y 



(Notice.— This play is here privately printed and not for 
circulation. All its dramatic rights are fully protected, and 
proceedings will be immediately taken against anyone who 
attempts to infringe them.) 

Protected Interests 

OR 

The Man Higher Up 



A Drama in Four Acts 

BY 

EDWARD STAATS DE GROTE TOMPKINS 

Author of 

"Through David's Realm," "An Honest Hypocrite" 
"The Suffragent" "Holy Lucre," Etc. 

Copyrighted 1911. 

BOSTON. 

Printed by the Blanchard Pt.tnttng Co. 

1911 



(Notice. — This play is here privately printed and not for 
circulation. All its dramatic rights are fully protected, and 
proceedings will be immediately taken against anyone who 
attempts to infringe them.) 



Protected Interests 



OR 



The Man Higher Up 



A Drama in Four Acts 



BY 



EDWARD STAATS DEiGROTE TOMPKINS. 

Author of 

"Through Daz'id's Realm," "An Honest Hypocrite," 
"The Suffra^cut," "Holy Lucre," Etc. 

Coprii^hted 1011. 



BOSTON. 

Prin'tf-d by the Blanciiard Printing Co. 

19 11 



PS 353^; 

. 02^ Ft 



©CLD 28177 



5i 



INTRODUCTION. 



The subject of this play is Probity zrrsus Politics. The 
endeavor is to show how little probity is worth at the present 
time to protect the honest American citizen from the increas- 
ing depreciations of politicians. 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE. 



Ambrosius Hartley, cloth merchant of New York, the Man 
Higher Up. 

Clarkson Vesey, in the custom house. 

Stuyvesant Hitt, a typical New Yorker. 

Renshaw, Hartley's right hand man. 

Bangs, a politician. 

Starky. 



I 



Custom house officers. 

POLLON, 

ToLMAN, secretary. 

Butler. 

Officer. 

Clarice Hartley, Hartley's daughter. 

Zaidee Hitt, Hitt's sister. 



SCENARIO. 



Ambrosius Hartley is a wealthy cloth merchant of New 
York summoned home because of complications in the custom 
house, a widower of blameless life devoted to art, with one 
daughter in love with Clarkson Vesey. Hartley has two 
friends, Stuyvesant Hitt and his sister Zaidee. In the first 
act the brother and sister announce their intention of marry- 
ing the Hartleys, and incidentally dispose Hartley to the same 
idea. Hartley sees his man Renshaw and learns something 
of his affairs, and at the end of the act discovers his 
daughter's love for Vesey. He finally gives his consent to 
their marriage if Vesey can extricate him from his difficulties 
with the custom house, in which Vesey has a position. 
Climax of first act. 

In the second act Hitt and Hartley both confess their 
intention to marry and Hartley finding his friend wants to 
marry his daughter is inclined to give him a chance. Hartley 
tries his luck with Zaidee and Vesey and Clarice have an 
interview in which she informs him of Hitt's intentions. 
Hartley informs his daughter of his wishes. At the end 
of the act Hartley has a talk with Bangs, the political boss, 
who indirectly asks for a bribe. Hartley's indignation and 
Bangs' hurt feelings form the climax of this act. 

In the third act Clarice and Zaidee have a talk, in which 
Clarice confides in Zaidee, and she sounds Clarice as to her 
willingness to have her father marry. Clarice asks Hitt to 
withdraw and he consents, but after Clarice and Vesey have 
a quarrel and their marriage is left in doubt. Hitt and 
Hartley have a talk about political conditions, then Hartley 
sees Renshaw and learns of his being fined two million 
dollars. He afterwards sees the two men arrested for 
taking bribes, and learns of the pathos of their being 
entrapped by Bangs. Hartley's indignation is vented on 
Bangs, who comes in to see if the fine has weakened his 
position. Bangs leaves under a torrent of denunciation, 
and just after he leaves Hartley learns a warrant is issued 
for his arrest. Grand Climax. 



In the fourth act, overcome with terror, they all seek 
Bangs' office, where the matrimonial difficulties are cleared 
up, and the warrant is not served 'because Hartley contributes 
a (half million to the Society for the Protection of American 
Patriots, in other words. Bangs. 



PROTECTED INTERESTS 

ACT I. 

Scene. — Drazinng room of Hartleys house. Enter Hitt and 
Zaidee ushered in by Butler. 

Butler. Miss Hartley will be right down. (Exit.) 

Hitt. Things look rich here. You wouldn't think the 
poor fellow is in trouble. 

Zaidee. Oh! Stuy, is he in such great trouble? 

Hitt. Pooh ! no, not if he can only think he is not. If I 
had his money I shouldn't feel I was in trouble. Trouble, 
so far as I can see, is mostly in thinking you have it. If 
you have plenty of money, I can't for the life of me see 
where there is any trouble in this present well-regulated age. 

Zaidee. Stuy, you are so mercenary. 

Hitt. Mercenary! Humph! I'd like to know who isn't at 
the present time? Mercenary, why, Zaidee, self-preservation 
isn't being mercenary, it's only just trying to keep your head 
above water and not drown. 

Zaidee. And are we so near drowning, Stuy? 

Hitt. Drowning? Why, we are practically swamped, 
somebody has got to do something, or we shall — Oh ! hang 
it. where shall we be? I don't know I am sure. It's no 
small matter being a howling swell with no cash. What I 
want to know is why those beastly old Stuyvesants didn't 
have the sense to provide their posterity enough money to 
go with their beastly old name. 

Zaidee. Do you know. Stuy, I do hate this present 
business. 

Hitt. To tell the truth, so do I, my dear, it's a beastly 
low down shame, but we have got to have money, and it is 
either marry it or steal it, and no opportunity for stealing 
comes my way. as it does to some of our great and good 
friends the millionaires. 

Zaidee. Oh ! Stuy, you do talk so ! 

Hitt. I merely tell the truth, the melancholy truth. 

Zaidee. But for you to marrj' Clarice, that dear, sweet 
girl— 

9 



Hitt. (Turning suddenly.) You don't mean I am not 
worthy of her. What, a Stuyvesant and all that, not worthy 
to marry a 

Zaidee. Don't talk that way. You know I love Clarice, 
she is my best and dearest friend 

Hitt. And your brother isn't good enough for her. Well — 

Zaidee. No, Stuy, dear, you are the best f-ellow in the 
world, but you mustn't forget Mabel. 

Hitt. (Uncomfortable.) Yes, I did forget Mabel for a 
moment. Why did you bring her up? Poor Mabel, she is 
such a good girl. 

Zaidee. And would go to the ends of the earth for you, 
Stuy, you know it. 

Hitt. (Sadly.) Yes, I know it. Poor Mabel! But hang 
it, Zaid, I simply can't marry her, I have no money, and 
she has none. She knows that, she understands. Oh! Zaid, 
to be poor, to be poor ! I only wish 

Zaidee. I wasn't thinking so much of Mabel, I was think- 
ing of Clarice. 

Hitt. I would make her a good husband. 

Zaidee. I know you would, Stuy, you couldn't help that, 

but you wouldn't love her and it isn't fair to marry a 

girl, when you don't love her 

Hitt. What is that you say? 

Zaidee. It isn't fair to marry a girl when you love 
another. 

Hitt. (Doggedly.) But I could get to love her. There 
isn't a girl I respect more, not even Mabel. Clarice is 
everything she should be. 

Zaidee. You see it is different with a young girl. Mar- 
riage is everything to her. The man she loves is a hero, a 
god, something to worship. 

Hitt. Zaidee! 

Zaidee. It's true, Stuy it's true, and to marry a man 

and find that his heart isn't hers, that he is only a base 
self-seeker, just looking for her money, well now, to tell 

the truth, Stuy, I don't, like it I won't have it, there, 

I won't. 

Hitt. (Turning around in amazement.) You won't have 



10 



it! For heaven's sake, I can hardly believe my eyes. The 
giddy, fashionable, hard-hearted Zaidee Hitt. Zaidee Stuy- 
vesant Hitt won't let her brother marry for money! What 
in the name of all that is holy does anyone marry for in 
our set? I have wondered for years, and I have n^ver 
discovered any other reason. 

Zaidee. I think you exaggerate. I may have seemed 
frivolous to you, but I tell you I sometimes have my serious 
moments, and I really can't, the more I think of it, let you 
marry Clarice. 

Hitt. Well, of all the say, you are a nice one to 

talk. Here you are doing your very best to catch the old 
man, and you give me a moral lecture. 

Zaidee. Do I? Well, some one has got to do a little 
moralizing. 

Hitt. Let that be as it may. But for the life of me I 
can't see any difference between my marrying Clarice and 
you marrying Hartley. 

Zaidee. (Quietly.) Oh! you can't? Please remember Mr. 
Hartley is not a young man, and is not in the first tlush of 
youth. 

Hitt. But a young girl's ideas, her idol, her god 

humph you are a nice one to talk to me. (He catches 

sight of Zaidec's face, zuho is blushing.) What what 

for heaven's sake, Zaidee Hitt why, by all that is good 

and holy, I believe you care 

Zaidee. Oh ! Stuy, do shut up. You are enough to 
provoke a saint. (He goes to her and takes her iti his anus 
and she tries to avoid his eyes.) 

Hitt. My dear little girl! I can't believe it. that old man! 

Zaidee. He isn't old, he is only fifty-three, what is that 
in a man, and such a man. Yes, Stuy (Raising her head), I 

do care for him, I always have, I I have always felt 

like a mother to Clarice. (Ptay fully.) Haven't you noticed 
it? 

Hitt. That is why you have always been so attentive here. 
Oh! I see. 

Zaidee. Now, Stuy, please don't. You are approaching 
the vulgar. Besides we poor girls have got to look after 



11 



ourselves but we are not all quite so mercenary as we 

seem. (Enter Clarice.) How are you, my dear? I just came 
in with Stuy for a moment to say how do you do. I'm 
coming back very soon, ta-ta. (Exit Zaidee.) 

Clarice. What a whirlwind! I suppose you want to see 
father? Poor old dear, he is so worried. (Seating herself.) 

Hitt. I don't mind seeing you for a moment. 

Clarice. (Innocently.) That's nice. I suppose Zaid thinks 
anyone of a family will do. 

Hitt. You put it rather generally, don't you? 

Clarice. Oh! Mr. Hitt 

Hitt. Can't you ever recover from calling me Mr. Hitt? 
I detest the name, I wish I could change it. I haven't your 
luck. (Significantly.) 

Clarice. (Mockingly.) I am in no especial anxiety to 
change mine. 

Hitt. I wish I could only think it might be, in your case, 
Hitt or Miss. 

Clarice. (Puzzled at first and then laughing.) Oh ! you 
horrid man! I never saw such a confirmed joker. 

Hitt. I'm not joking, I am serious. 

Clarice. (Looking at him in surprise.) Why, what is the 
matter with you today? Actually I do believe you are upset. 

Hitt. I am. I am awfully upset. 

Clarice. I hope you haven't let papa's troubles worry you? 

Hitt. Yes, they do worry me, but my own worry me more. 

Clarice. 1 am sorry you are worried. I wish I could help 
you. 

Hitt. You do? (Eagerly.) You can. (Clarice sees some- 
thing that frightens her.) Will you? 

Clarice. (Hesitating.) A girl can do so little. 

Hitt. Humph ! a girl can do a great deal sometimes. 

Clarice. But we are so weak. 

Hitt. Thank heaven you are. With your other qualifica- 
tionis we poor men would 'be simply wiped off the earth, if 
you were not. 

Clarice. (Mischievously.) Oh! dear, I should hope not, 
we couldn't do without you men. It would be simply awful. 

Hitt. You feel the need of our supporting arms 



12 



Clarice. I am not so sure about the arms, I hadn't 

thought of that but we must have something to amuse 

us just keep us up to the mark something to give 

interest piquancy to life. 

Hitt. Then you have never thought about marrying? 

Clarice. (Frightened and showing it. which Hitt mistakes.) 

Marrying why I can't say I had (laughing) given 

it any great amount of attention any more than to zoolog>' 
for instance. 

Hitt. Then you think we men are only animals just 

all beasts, I suppose. Perhaps (thinking) you may just at 
present think I am one especial kind. (Rather bitterly.) 

Clarice. Oh! Mr. Hitt What is the matter with you 

today. I wish Zaidee would come back (Looking around 

anxiously.) 

Hitt. Don't get frightened, I am not going to have con- 
vulsions. 

Clarice. (Rising.) Xo, worse. 

Hitt. Worse ! Look here, Clarice, you can't throw me off 
any more. 

Clarice. I don't want to throw you off, what do you 



mean 



Hitt. Tell me, don't you think you could ever marry me? 

Clarice. Oh! Mr. Hitt, please don't. I thought you had 
forgotten all al>out that. 

Hitt. Well, I haven't. Aud I think more of it every day. 

Clarice. You mustn't, it's bad for you. Besides, you are 
much too old. Why you have always seemed just like a 
brother 

Hitt. (ll^ith grim humor.) Why don't you say uncle? 

Clarice. It would be better, I will after this. 

Hitt. Thank you. I am willing to take anything, even a 
little. But, Clarice, couldn't you think just a little of the 
matter? 

Clarice. (Piquantly.) I can think, but I can't think just 
that way. 

Hitt. Perhaps not just now, i)ut later. 

Clarice. I am sorry. Mr. 

Hitt. \\\ ! (Holding uf> his finger.) 



13 



Clarice. I forgot (tmth mischief) uncle! (He turns azmy 
impatiently.) 

Hitt. Tell me (turning towards her impetuously) is there 
another? 

Clarice. (Embarrassed.) Another, what makes you think 

that? (Controlling herself.) Another (laughing) you 

must think I am a kind of story book heroine. 

Hitt. (Impressively.) You are a heroine all right. I don't 
know about a story book heroine. Perhaps you think you 
couldn't care for anyone. 

Clarice. I fancy I am a little cold-blooded. (Tossing her 
head to hide her embarrassment.) 

Hitt. Look here, Clarice, you know very well the customs 
of our set. We don't do the foolish things that young people 
love to read of, and which make the fortunes of half-witted 
writers 

Clarice. We don't? Why, I thought it was just our 
foolishness which made those books sell. I am sure the world 
ought to be very grateful that we can be such idiots, 
instead of making game of us all the time. The only thing 
that reconciles me to my present life is the missionary work 
I am doing for the people who read the penny dreadfuls. 

Hitt. Clarice, do be sensible. Tell me, is there someone 
else? If there is I will quit at once. (Pause.) If there 
isrt't, I tell you now I want my chance. 

Clarice. A gambler's chance? All right, (laughing) you 
can have it. You know they always lose. 

Hitt. No they don't, they sometimes have a run of luck. 
(Hartley enters.) 

Hartley. Did you want to see me? Jenks told me you 
were here. 

Hitt. Yes. (Stammering a little.) I wanted to know 

how it was getting on? (Clarice laughs slily and goes out 
saying) 

Clarice. Good-bye uncle. 

Hartley. What did she say uncle for? (Surprised.) 
'Hitt. I don't know, unless coming events cast their 
shadows before. 

Hartley. (Puzzled.) Com-ing events cast their say, 



14 



look here, Stuy, you're joking. (Evidently grasping his mean- 
iftg.) 

Hitt. Well, old man, I'm not joking, if my feelings have 
anything to do with it. (Put rather tenderly.) 

Hartley. But I am an old man, Stuy, Zaidee is a fresh 
young girl. 

Hitt. Take an old man's advice. No one likes fresh 
cheese, unless it's cream cheese, and the girls are the only 
ones partial to that so far as I know. 

Hartley. But Zaidee, she would be Shocked. 

Hitt. You heard Clarice, she isn't shocked at the idea of 
my being her uncle. I can say, though, it isn't altogether 
complimentary to my bald head, which is due I have always 
fondly believed to high-bred, no hair. Clarice seems to think 
differently. 

Hartley. Really, Stuy, you give me an idea. 

Hitt. Don't be silly. At your time of life you should be 
saying your prayers. 

Hartley. To tell the truth I think I ought. At least just 
at present. Do you know, I'm mig'hty glad you came in. I 
atn glad Clarice calls you uncle. 

Hitt. I hope you are not going to make that a subject 
of prayer. I don't. (Rather cuttingly.) 

Hartley. No, I suppose not, you are naturally proud of 
your youth. Keep it while you can. But I was going to 
say say, do you think really that Zaidee 

Hitt. Do I think that Zaidee 'd what? 

Hartley. Do you think she would marry? 

Hitt. Do I think that Zaidee would marry! Do I think 
that the world is going to turn round! Why. man, what 
ails you? Don't people marry in Europe? 

Hartley. (Ez'idently pleased.) Yes, of course, but this is 
a little different. I am an old man and she a bright young 
girl. Do you think she would have me? 

Hitt. Look here, old man, in my new capacity as Clarice's 
uncle, I feel called upon to say you had better be careful. A 
stepmother is not always acceptable. 

Hartley. (With assurance.) But Clarice would be de- 
lighted. 



15 



HitL I am not so sure. And then you must respect my 
feelings. I don't really care to be made an old uncle just 
to please a friend. 

Hartley. Oh ! Stuy, you are joking as always, be sensible. 

Hitt. All right. If you want to marry a girl ask her. 
She can^t more than refuse you. And Zaid will let you down 
easy, for I know she is fond of you, couldn't help, being 
almost brought up in the family. 

Hartley. (Rubbing his head.) That is just it, it always 

gets to be the paternal with a man of my age and 

hang it, I don't feel as paternal as I look. 

Hitt. Well don't look it then. I can't help looking like 
an uncle it seems, but I will cure myself or die. You do 
the same, try, there is nothing like practice. But let's talk 
business. How about the custom house matter, anything 
further? 

Hartley. I haven't heard anything this morning. I am 
expecting Renshaw any moment. I wrote him I simply would 
not stand any more of their nonsense, and to send a man 
here to talk with me. 

Hitt. I thought you had sent for one. 

Hartley. Yes, I have, Renshaw wrote me to do so. I don't 
just understand what I have got to do with him anyway. 
Renshaw acts as though this man was the whole American 
government. 

Hitt. Who is he? 

Hartley. Bangs. 

Hitt. He represents about all we have of a government. 

Hartley. What do you mean? Surely we have a presi- 
dent, a cabinet, and a congress. We have all the machinery 
of a great government 

Hitt. Exactly, that is just it. We have the machinery of 

a great government but that is about all. A machinery 

has to be run. 

Hartley. That is what Renshaw wrote, but I don't see if 
we have all these men, paid large salaries, what in the name 
•"of all that is holy do we have to have Bangs for? 

Hitt. Some one has to oil the machinery. 

Hartley. On a locomotive the fireman does that, does he 



16 



not? 

Hitt. Well, you supply the fuel ha you gave some 

money to your friend, who wanted office, you probably supply 
the oil too. Oil is a vast monopoly now. It isn't only one 

kind of oil that does the business there is another kind. 

Your oil helped to put your good friend into office. Now, 
as I understand it, it needs a clever fireman to put the oil 
in the right spots. He must know just th€ proper holes, 
their various locations, and the exact amount of oil needed, 
in fact he must have a large and varied knowledge of the 
needs of a great machine. We said the government was a 
machine, didn't we? 
Hartley. (Thoughtfully.) Xo. machinery. 
Hitt. Well, there isn't much difference, is there? Now, 
according to your idea all you think is needful is to pour 
out the oil anywhere, on top, on the sides, only get enough 
on and it is all right. Your friend who asked for your 

check do you think he knew how to put the oil on in 

the proper places? 

Hartley. He was elected. 

flitt. Well, then, he had been studying the machinery and 

knew the proper holes and the right amount 

Hartley. You mean he used my money to bribe somebody. 

Hitt. Xo, I don't mean anything of the sort. We don't 

call a spade a spade in our set. A social crime in our set, 

you know very well, is an indiscretion at most, a sad mistake, 

or possibly a lamentable mistake especially if he has 

money. 

Hartley. Oli ! Stuy, don't talk that way, I shall think you 
are not what you are. 
Hitt. And that is what? 

Hartley. A mighty good fellow and an honest man. 
Hitt. Well, I trust I am all that. But I trust, too, I ajn 
not a fool. .My l>eloved ancestors gave me a lot of stuff 
known in the present age as ancestry and social position. 
It is about all I have got. As those old duffers forgot all 
al:out the cash. I have to do the best I can with my assets, 
and I do. 

Hartley. I don't believe my friend used a dollar of that 
money dishonestly. 

17 



Hitt. Nor I. He put it into the campaign fund. There 
is all the difference between a campaign fund and bribery 
that there is between the north pole and the south pole. 
Politics is eminently scriptural, its right hand is in blissful 
ignorance of what its left hand is up to. Otherwise our 

senators, our governors, our but hush, we mustn't speak 

of some things. 

Hartley. O'h! Stuy, Stuy why do you talk so to me? 

Hitt. Because you are just a new-born babe. 

Hartley. That is what Renshaw intimated. 

Hitt. (With asperity.) Evidently you think I am just a 
Renshaw record. 

Hartley. (Laughing.) No, not just that, but your ideas 
are very much the same. 

Hitt. They are the same because we both see the truth. 
There is a great deal of truth in Renshaw, a great deal more 
than you would suspect. But don't forget, my friend, if we 
in our set don't always call a spade a spade, those in Bangs* 
set don't either. And to tell you the truth, I don't see as 
they are any more to blame than we are. Life seems to be 
to get there, and the getting there must be made to look as 
pretty as possible. 

Hartley. Oh! Stuy, how can you say those things? 

Hitt. Because it is the simple truth and I hate a lie. 

Hartley. (With fervor.) I am glad to hear you say so. 

Hitt. It's such a damned nuisance. (Hartley looks very 
much surprised. Zaidee enters.) 

Zaidee. Oh ! I am interrupting. 

Hartley. Oh ! no, you are not my child. (Hitt laughs.) 

Hitt. I thought you hated paternity. 

Hartley. So I do, too much of it. Everything in its 
season. 

Hitt. Well, I will be going. Don't be giving Zaid fatherly 
advice. She doesn't like it. She won't take it from me. 
(Exit.) 

Zaidee. (Mockingly.) But I will from you. 
'Hartley. That is just why I don't want to give it. 

Zaidee. (Sighing.) One never gets what one wants in 
this world. 



18 



Hartley. (Coming near her.) Do you always crave 
fatherly advice from me? 

Zaidce. (Frankly.) Of course. You are quite fitted to 
give it. Your age 

Hartley. (Disconcerted.) My age oh ! my age is 

always against me 

Zaidee. I don't know. Age sometimes has merits 

Hartley. (Bitterly.) Yes. like cheese. Stuy was just giv- 
ing me a lecture on its merits. 

Zaidee. Like cheese! 1 didn't know Stuy had gone into 
the provision business. Has he come down to being a grocer? 

Hartley. Not exactly. He is only assuming the parental 
role and used this as a figure. My conversations seem 
always to end on the parental side. 

' Zaidee. You don't like it, and Clarice is such a nice 
child and I too. 

Hartley. Look here. Zaidee, did you ever think of marry- 
ing? 

Zaidee. (Tat>('ing her forehead.) Just how do you think 
I had spent the last twenty-four years? 

Hartley. No, but I mean seriously. 

Zaidce. Well, if there is an>ihing more scrii)us m life to 
a woman, next to her hack hair. I would like to know what 
is? 

Hartley. No, but what I mean to say is, could you ever 
kt me occupy your thoughts after yuur bad: hair was 
thoroughly adjusted? 

Zaidee. (Jutn{^in^ up and ttiniinii toiivrds him.) You 
mean, ccme now, daddy, could I ever think of marrying you? 

Hartley. Yes, ihr.t is what I am trying to get at. I Enter 
Butler. ) 

Butler. Mr. Renshaw, sir. 

Hartley. Show him in. (To Zaidee.) Come this way. 
I will show you out. (Rensh.wv and Tolm.an come in left 
as they i:o out right.) 

Tolman. You want to see .Mr. Hartley? 

Renshazv. Yes, I have got to see him, and sec him at 
f»; CO ! f.tsidi'.) T wonder w^hat he knows. 



19 



Tolman. You have an app ointment. 

Renshaw. I always have an appointment. 

Tolman. Yes, I know but Mr. Hartley is very par- 
ticular eh you see his time has many calls 

and even business must wait sometimes. (Hesitating.) 

Renshaw. Yes, I know, business has waited yes 

waited well, I think it has waited loo damn long. 

Tolman. Bh! what? 

Renshaw. I mean that business has required his presence 
and his attention so long that I fear 

Tolman. Yes, you fear 

Renshaw. Never mind what I fear. When can I see Mr. 

Hartley? 

Tolman. I think penhaps you might see him at 

once if the business is really urgent. 

Renshaw. My God, it is urgent. I don't see wfiy Hartley, 
I mean Mr. Hartley hasn't seen it before. If you can urge 
him to hurry up you will do him a great favor. 

Tolman. I will try. (Exit.) 

Renshaw. Heavens, will tihat man ever wake up? I have 
tried to warn him that there is a real crisis in his affairs, 
but no, I never seem to make the least impression. It is 
always art, art for art's sake, are the noble, art the one and 

only art art Oh! damn art. These men think if 

they have a lot of money, no matter 'how they get it, they 
can always go off in any direction just to suit their fancy, 
and it will be all right. Why can't they understand that 
v^rhen they have made their pile that there are a lot of poor 
devils who want to do the same thing. Now I have worked 

and worked and lied and Oh! hang it, I am 

always told business is business. Now let me see, how much 
did old Hartley make last year? I know, for I keep track, 
one million two hundred and eighty-five thousand just on 
his business. Thiat doesn't include his own private interests. 

And a good deal of this 1,285,000 dollars belonged 

hum was due hum to the American 

'Oh! what's the use? Business is business. (Enter Hartley.) 

Hartley. What in the name of all that is holy is this 
thing you want to see me for? 



20 



Rcnshaw. Well. Mr. Hartley, I am very sorry to trouble 
you but vou must excuse me if I call your attention to the 
fact that a business calls for a good deal of attention. 

Hartley. Exactly, that is what I have you for. 

Renshaw. True, but just the same while I am willing to 
do all I can for you, I am not the head, and th^ time has 
come when only the head can step in and direct. 

Hartley You mean that that devilish custom house has 
now interfered and you haven't the grit to undertake the 

handling of it? .r, > j t 

Renshaw. I mean that, and just that (Pause) and I 

mean that owing to peculiar circumstances very peculiar 

circumstances we find ourselves in a very 

Hartley. Well? 

Renshaw. Well! (Looking very significant.) 

Hartley. Speak out. 

Renshaw. Do vou want me to use plain English. 

Hartley. Of course. (Then catching the eye of Renshaw.) 

Ah hum I want you, of course, to tell the truth 

the truth 

Renshaw. I wondi^r if you do. 

Hartley. (Uneasy.) Com<' now. Renshaw. there must be 
no hiding things from me. I am aware that it is some time 
since I have looked into things, I have left that to you. 

Renshaw. I have done my best. 

Hartley. I am sure of that, but what 1 do not understand 
is why the custom house has taken this very unwarranted 
awl sudden action. Before this we have always had notice. 

Renshazv. Yes, but political conditions have changed. We 
have had an upheaval of upstarts. Men who know nothiiTg 
of politics or conditions, but who wish for the shekels 
nevertheless, and more particularly for the reputation of being 
great reformers. 

Hartley. That is the way they always begin. 

Renslmzv. You see the only way to oust the old leaders 
is to turn traitor to the old ways, but they hold out the 
old inducemeiTts ju^st the same. 

Hartley. You mean it is only a matter of money? 

Renshaw. Of course, everything is only a matter of money. 



21 



Hartley. Oh ! don't say that, there are other thimgs. 

Renshaw. Yes (In a low voice) yes, art. 

Hartley. (Hearing.) Oh! more than art, Renshaw 

'honor in 

Renshaw. Honor ! 

Hartley. You you are sneering. 

Renshaw. No, Fm not. 

Hartley. (Uncomfortable.) Come now, Renshaw, we must 
be frank with each other, just explain. 

Renshazif. Explain ! why you want me to explain the whole 
American people. 

Hartley. Yes, I know we are getting pretty bad. 

Renshaw. It is worse than bad, it is idiotic. 

Hartley. As I understand it we are held up because of 

of— 

Renshazv. False measurements. 

Hartley. Under valuations. (Severely.) 

Renshaw. Oh! well, call it what you like. 

Hartley. I do call it what I like. 

Renshaw. So do others. 

Hartley. What do you mean? 

Renshaw. I mean, t'hanks to that 

Hartley. That what? 

Renshazv. To that high-minded reformer who did not 
hesitate to buy an election 

Hartley. Don't talk that way. 

Renshaw. Wihy not talk that way, it is true. 

Hartley. True, yes, perhaps to put it in a bald way, 

but that high-minded reformer is a friend of mine. 

Renshaw. Quite true, and this is your reward. By the 
way how much did you contribute to his election? 

Hartley. Ekotion, did I contribute? 

Renshaw. Well, if you didn't I did. You wrote me to 
do so. 

Hartley. Yes, yes, I remember. And you sent a check? 

Renshaw. For one hundred thousand. 
' Hartley. I remember. I thought at the time it was too 
much. 

Renshazv. And I think it was too little. 



22 



Hartley. Too little? 

Renshaw. Too much then and too little now. 

Hartley. I don't understand. 

Renshaw. Wfell, perhaps I am wrong, but something was 
mismanaged. Otherwise we would not have been interfered 
with in this shameless way. 

Hartley. It's all a beastly shame. Just think of the 
position in which I am placed. 

Renshuw. I have. 

Hartley. My honesty, .yes, my honor even, implicated. 
(Renshaw looks at him and raises his eyes.) You can't 
understand it? 

Renshaw. I can't? I know ^ prison door when I see it. 

Hartley. (Amazed.) Renshaw, what are you talking 
about ? 

Renshaw. Just plain facts facts, I tell you. 

Hartley. You haven't done anything criminal? (Looking 
at him with aversion.) 

Renshaw. Well, they said some pretty hard things to me. 

Hartley. Thiey did, wliat? 

RensMw. Now look here, Hartley, there is no use in our 
trying to bluff eadh other. 

Hartley. (With dignity.) I have no desire to bluff any- 
thing, I am shocked to hear you talk this way. You speak 
of prison in a way I do not like. 

Renshaw. (With a sardonic grin.) Oh! you don't like it. 

Hartley. No, I don't. You come here and talk to me in 
a most extraordinary way, you speak of honor and honesty 
in a very sneering manner. You why you take unwar- 
ranted liberties you 

Renshaw. Well, if you must know it we are both in a 
hole, an awful hole, and we sink or swim together. 

Hartley. Rensbaw ! 

Renshaw. It's a fact, you don't seem to grasp the idea yet. 

Hartley. No, I don't. 

Renshaw. Well then I will tell you, (Looking around.) 
Are we alone? 

Hartley. Yes, no one can hear, (Looking at Renshaw imth 
some hauteur not unmixed with contempt.) 



23 



Renshaw. It is now, let me see, twenty-eight, no, twenty- 
nine years since I entered your employ. . 

Hartley. Yes, and I have never had any reason to find 
fault with you before. 

Renshaw. (Impatient.) No, nor now. Your business has 
been carried on entirely to your satisfaction you have said, 
and it has certainly pirospered. You have expressed no 
discontent. 

Hartley. (Eyeing him severely.) No. 

Renshazv. And you have known how it was carried on. 

Hartley. (Slowly.) Ye — es. 

Renshaw. It was <jar,ried on, on exactly the same lines 
as other business, neither better nor worse. 

Hartley. Ye — es, I suppose so. 

Renshaw. In doing so it has been done with the entire 
approval of the government. 

Hartley. I should hope so. 

Renshaw. It was understood that oin certain 

considerations being complied with there would be 

ahem, no unnecessary interference. (Pause. Hartley sits 
down and meditates.) 

Hartley. You mean things were done 

Renshaw. Yes, things were certainly done. Things have 
to 'be done where politicians are concerned. (Pause.) 

Hartley. (Jumping up.) You mean they had to be bribed ? 

Renshaw. (Looking around and then at the ceiling.) Are 
politicians in it for the welfare of the people, or for their 
health ? 

Hartley. Renshaw you are vulgar. 

Renshaw. Yes, very. If you touch politics you do not 
perfume your fingers with rose water. 

Hartley. Don't talk that way, I don't like it. 

Renshaw. Nor do I. I am in business. Your business 
isn't a flower show. 

Hartley. (Annoyed.) I don't see why you persist in talk- 
ing to me in this way. It isn't nice. 

Renshaw. No, not nice. It isn't artistic, I suppose, but 
it is business, and business requires some pretty plain talk. 

Hartley. (Walking around.) I don't mind plain talk, but 



24 



surely there is no need of talking of prison and such things. 
It isn't nice, it isn't why you know 

Renshaw. (Bitterly.) Yes, I know, in your class it isn't 
good form. 

Hartley. Yes, it isn't good form. 

Renshaw. (Looking at Hartley meaningly.) In England 
business isn't good form. 

Hartley. Well, this isn't England. 

Renshaw. Look here, we are up against it, that is all I 
have to say. Those damned politicians see their chance and 
they mean to use it. 

Hartley. You mean 

Renshaw. Yes, I mean it has now come to the pass that 
the rich are to be bled for all they are worth. 

Hartley. (Staring stupified.) To be bled for all they are 
worth ! 

Renshaw. Sure, the good old times are gone. Then we 
had complacent, I can't say gentlemanly politicians, who knew 
their place, and so long as they had a moderate share of the 
spoil they were disposed to keep their place. 

Hartley. Exactly, and now ? 

Renshaw. They think they are masters, and they want it 
ail. They are just hogs. 

Hartley. (Shivering.) Yes just hogs. 

Renshaw. Say damn it, man, that is what you want to say. 

Hartley. (Shocked.) Oh! Renshaw! (Enter Tolman.) 
Well? 

Tolman. Mr. Vesey to see you, sir. He says he has an 
appointment. 

Hartley. Show him in. I think I'd better see him alone. 
(Exit Tolman.) 

Renshaw. Then I will step out awhile. (Exit Renshaw, 
enter Vesey.) 

Hartley. 'How do you do, Mr. Vesey? I think I have 
met you before. You are a friend of my daughter, I believe 
I have heard her speak of you. 

Vesey. Yes we are old friends. 

Hartley. 'Tis not, however, on that account that I sent 
for you. Pray be seated. I am always glad to see her 



25 



friends, and I have been away so long they are mostly 
strangers to me. Your name, of course, I recognize. Some 
relation to Vesey Street, I suppose? 

Vesey. A kind of first cousin. 

Hartley. I sent for you, Mr. Vesey, because my secretary 
mentioned you were in the custom house in a position of some 
responsibility, and being a friend of my daughter, I natur- 
ally hoped you might be willing to have a little talk with 
me on a matter of which you may be cognizant. (Vesey 
bows.) I am not sure, of course, that you can give me any 
information, but perhaps you can give me some advice. 

Vesey. I should be only too happy to accommodate Miss 
Hartley's father. 

Hartley. Perhaps you know something of the situation. 

Vesey. (Uneasy.) I have heard something, but you must 
know all my information is purely routine. I am only an 
assistant. 

Hartley. But you must know the workings of the custom 
house. 

Vesey. (Still uneasy.) Only by hearsay. 

Hartley. Well, the situation as I understand it is there 
have been great undervaluations in the cloth department, and 
now the department is going to investigate and compel me 
to pay over to the government large sums of money. Now 
that is a simple outrage. I do a legitimate business. I buy 
my goods abroad, they are shipped here, and examined by 
the custom house men, who take the invoices and compare 
them with the goods, and then the duty is paid. It is not 
my fault if the officials do not know the value of the goods, 
which pass through their hands. After they have once passed 
I have complied with the law and should not be responsible 
for their mistake, if they make any. 

Vesey. As you put it you are quite right. 

Hartley. As I put it? Don't I put it right? 

Vesey. (Uneasy.) I don't think that is just the way it 
is put in the custom house. 
' Hartley. Then how is it put, that is what I want to know? 

Vesey. Really, Mr. Hartley, I don't think I know. 

Hartley. You don't know and you one of the officials in 
the custom house. 

26 



Vesey. (Shifting himself in his chair.) I trust you do 
not expect me to know all that goes on in the custom house. 

Hartley. (Impatiently.) No, of course not, but you ought 
to know the general workings of the place. 

Vesey. Yes, I know those. 

Hartley. Well, then, what is this matter all about? 

Vesey. You make it very hard for me to say. 

Hartley. (Getting up.) You find it difficult to tell me 
frankly what is the matter? 

Vesey. Yes, Mr. Hartley, I do. 

Hartley. I am sorry to put you to any great annoyance, 
but as you are in a way a friend of the family cannot you 
stretch a point and tell me just what is the matter? 

Vesey. (Rising and walking around, while Hartley 
watches him curiously.) I will, as you ask it, yet it isn't any 
of my business. I really think you have been treated badly, 
and I have thought so all along. But I was not in any 
position to interfere. (Hartley smiles with some satisfac- 
tion.) I have always said you knew nothing about it; that 

you would not approve if you did well, that it was 

a mean thing to put a man like you into such a position. 

Hartley. I am glad to hear you say that. You seem to be 
honest at any rate. 

Vesey. (Surprised.) Honest ! what do you mean ? 

Hartley. Pardon me, I meant nothing, but for heaven's 
sake, man, do tell me the truth. 

Vesey. I fear I must. You will forgive me if I do? 

Hartley. Certainly, go on. 

Vesey. (Thinking.) You must understand, Mr. Hartley, 
that I am not in politics. Unfortunately for me I have to 
earn my own living. 

Hartley. You come of a good family. 

Vesey. So called, but I happen to be poor. I had to do 
something, and the influence of my family got me this 
position in the custom house. I know, of course, the general 
routine of the office. What goes on behind the scenes I know 
no more than you do. I trust I am a gentleman, and so, I 
fancy, I am not considered the proper person to be confided 



27 



in. I am very glad I am not. Your case came up. It was 
put to me in a very disagreeable light. Naturally, as a friend 
of your daughter, I was much concerned. The people in the 

office did not mince their words. They spoke very plainly 

and I must say, unpleasantly. When I demurred they called 

me an aristocrat and said we were all alike, we would 

do all sorts of dirty work on the sly and then profess 
righteousness in public. 

Hartley. And this dirty work was? 

Vesey. (Bracing himself.) It was, in short, Mr. Hart- 
ley I can't say it 

Hartley. Go on. 

Vesey. It was bribing the appraisers to undervalue your 
goods. 

Hartley. That ! Stealing from the government ! from the 
American people ! Impossible ! 

Vesey. That is what they said. 

Hartley. (Hesitating in his amazement.) But to say that 
thing of me ! 

Vesey. I said you knew nothing about it. 

Hartley. (Turning zvith wrath.) Then you think it was 
done? 

Vesey. I only know they have the confessions of two men 
under oath. 

Hartley. They perjured themselves. It is a deliberate at- 
tempt to extort money. I will show it up. 

P^esey. I hope you may. I too think there is something 
queer about it. (Enter Tolman.) 

Tolman. (Handing a card.) Someone to see you. 

Hartley. All right, I will see him. Wait for me, please. 
(Exeunt. Clarice looks in, and seeing Vesey is alone comes 
forward.) 

Clarice. Oh I Clarkson, have you said anything to him? 

Vesey. (Taking her hand and giving her a furtive kiss.) 
No, sweetheart, not yet. I didn't come for that. He sent 
for me on business. I don't believe I have the courage to 
speak to him now. 

Clarice. Why not. dear. Why not speak and have it over 
with? 



I'esey. But suppose he should not give his permission? 
Claride. Oh! but he will, he is so good. You don't know 
my father. 

V'esey. But, darling, I suppose he is human. He is rich 

and has a great position. I am poor 

Clarice. But your family, Clarkson I Why. one of the 
oldest and most distinguished in the city. Surely, dearest, 
you don't think he is a purse-proud, nouveau creature. 

Vesey. No, sweetheart, of course not, but money is 
money, and poverty is poverty. Besides he may not like 
losing his only child. Perhaps he has some duke in sight, 
and it might appeal to him to have you called your high- 
ness 

Clarice. Oh ! Clarkson, how can you be so silly. Do you 
think any really respectable or self-respecting prince would 
marry me? 

/ esey. I would marry you if I were a king. (Kissing Iter 
fondly. J 

Clarice. Don't forget that horrid secretary. He wears 
rubber heels to go with his disposition. 

I'esey. Well, your father doesn't, and I do not mind the 
secretary. (They indulge in a little affection.) Why do you 
care for me? 

Clarice. Qarkson, how stupid you are! Just as though 

1 was going to tell you. You are conceited enough already. 

I'esey. Yes. dearest. I am conceited to think I should 

win the sweetest and best girl living, when I am nothing 

but a poor, struggling clerk. 

Clarice. Oh! will you ever get over that attack of self- 
depreciation? Well, if you really want to know why I care 
for you. it is because you are so very humble. All the other 
chappies are so dead sure of themselves, and think that 
Clarice Hartley, the great heiress, really must, don't yer 
know, yield to their over-abundant and superfluous charms. 
Pah I Clarkson, the young man of the present age simply 
makes me unutterably tired. There, now, it's because you 
aren't anybody or anything and know it, that I love you. 
There you are hurt, poor dear fellow ! You aren't hurt, are 
you? No. because you know T think you are just a man, 



a real, noble, simple, honest, dear, sincere specimen of an 
extinct species. You are just a real nice old dodo. * There. 
(Throwing her arms around his neck as Hartley appears 
amazed on the threshold. They do not see him at first.) 

Hartley. (Severely.) I should like to know what ,this 
means. (Confusion.) 

Clarice. (Running up to him and throwing her arms about 
him.) I love him. 

Hartley. It looks so. 

Clarice. Oh ! papa, he is the best man that ever lived. 

Hartley. (Severely.) Do you always show jour apprecia- 
tion of character that way? 

Clarice. (Hugging him again.) Always. 

Hartley. Well, young m.an, what have you to say for 
yourself? I don't m.ind saying I am somewhat confused. 

Vesey. So am I. 

Hartley. But that does not explain matters. 

Clarice. But, papa, I love him so. 

Hartley. That does not relieve him. of some moral re- 
sponsibility. 

Clarice. Oh ! but papa, v^^e were going to tell you, only 
Clarkson hasn't had time. You see you have only just got 

home and I couldn't write very well please say it 

is all right do, papa, dearest. 

Hartley. But, Clarice, dearest, this is a very great shock 
you must know. A man doesn't lose his only child without 
some feelings on the subject.- At least you must admit this 
is a very unusual v;ay of informing a parent of a very grave 
matter. 

Fesey. I am very sorry. Mr. Hartley, to have seemed 

inconsiderate or or appear in a way that should 

excite your condemnation. 

Hartley. I suppose you have something to say for 3^our- 
self or think you have. (Severely.) 

Vesey. I am afraid I haven't very much to say for myself, 
Mr. Hartley. 

* Hartley. You haven't? Well that is certainly a little 
singular. 

Clarice. Oh ! papa, please, don't be unkind. (Still clinging 
to his breast.) 

30 



Hartley. (A little shaken.) Unkind ! I don't want to be 
unkind. I only wish to understand what this all means. I 
would like to hear what this young man has to say for 
himself. 

Vesey. (Abashed, and hesitating.) I am afraid I have 

very little to say for myself. I I love your daughter 

and I have asked her to be my wife. 1 know it is very 

presumptuous, but 

Hartley. Well I should think it was. Coming into my 
sheepfold and stealing away my own ewe lamb. 

Clarice. Oh, papa, he isn't stealing your own ewe lamb, 
he is giving 3'ou a son. 

■■ Hartley. (With grim humor.) When I wish to add to 
my flock I would like to have a slight part in the selection. 
I might also have some preference as to the stock. 

Clarice. Oh I papa, you know all about the Veseys and 
the Clarksons, and his grandmother Avas a DePeyster, and, 
what were some of your other progenitors, Clarkson, do 
tell papa. 

I'esey. Largely dead beats, I fear. (Hartley frowns.) 
I must admit, Mr, Plartley, the great presumption in 
asking you for your daughter. I am quite aware I am 

unworthy of her, she has everything and I nothing I 

haven't even a house, only a salary, a mere miserable pit- 
tance that is in your eyes. You see we were thrown 

into the same society, we saw each other a good deal. 

Clar Miss Hartley, seemed to like me, and, well, before 

I knevv? it we found out that we cared for each other 

it was very foolish. 

Hartley. Then you have nothing to offer in return for 
the most precious treasure I possess? 

Vcsey. From your standpoint I am afraid I have not. 

Clarice. Oh ! but, papa, he has, he is such a splendid 
fellow, he is a real man. 

Hartley. That seems very little, my dear, there are so 
many. 

Clarice. Indeed there are not. If you knew the noodles 
I have to associate with you would appreciate a man when 
you saw one. 



31 



Hartley, This isn't the Garden of Eden, and vou are not 
Eve. In ber case it was natural to take the only man she 
conld get. 

Clarice. But, papa, you don't understand. You don't know 
what love is. 

Hartley. (Lootivj j: he*- Zi-itk a peculiar smiic.i - I don't? 
I didn't marry your mother lor monej*. my dear, and. well, 
I haven't gone through life for eighteen years without ha%-ing 
some idea of the thing that moves the world. 

Clarice. ( PuUirig herself away. ' Oh 1 papa, at your age. 
V^Try, you are getting into second childhood. Xow do be a 
dear and don't make poor Qarkson fed so badly, please 
don't. 

Hartley. My dear, what can I do? You ask me to give 
away my greatest treasure to a young man I have 011I3- seen 
once. You want me to put all my happiness, all my future, 
you might say, on one stake in a perfectly blindfold manner. 
I really must have time to think. I like Mr. Vesey very 
much, so far as I have seen him. but how can I tell about 
the future? 

Vesey. (Eagerly.) Please give me a trial, Mr. Hartle}' 

forgive me for asking so much but my happiness my 

whole future is at stake too I have so little, and you so 

much perhaps you may not find I am altogether robbing 

you I I will try to make up for it in some way 

please let me try and be worthy of the best woman in the 
world. 

Hartley. (Moved in spite of himself, and admiring Vesey's 
appearance.) You certainly have the blessing of modesty, 
and that is a good deal in this world. If you realty love my 
child and want to make her happy, and will do it. I can forgive 
anything. 

Clarice. He will make me happ^-, papa. 

Vesey. I can only try and try my best. 

Hartley. (Struck by a thought.) You say you will do 
anjthing to prove your love for my daughter. You can do 
so by clearing up the matter for which I sent for you. It 
may be some trouble, but if you try you can do it. This, 
then, win be your chance. 



Vesey. (Knitting his brows.) You mean about the custom 
house? 

Hartley. Yes, about that plaguy nuisance. Relieve my 
mind on that score and I shall believe you are both willing 
and capable of taking care of my daughter and her happiness. 

If, as she says, you are a man a man of the type that 

we all want, it is no question of money, no nor even of social 
position with me it is only the question of the man- 
In all good business a man has to prove the stuff that is in 
him if he wishes to succeed You prove what you are, and 
you can be my son and have everything I have got 

Clarice. (Kissing her father.) You old dear ! 

Vesey. (Shaking hands with Hartley.) Thank you. 



CUKTAIN. 



33 



ACT II. 

Scene — Hartley^^ library. Time, next morning. Hartley 
seated. Enter Hitt. 

Hitt. Hallo, old fellow, anything new this morning? 

Hartley. No, I have been getting myself straightened out. 
This living in Europe half the time, and here half the time, 
does rather make one a composite. I don't really feel that 
I belong anywhere. 

Hitt. Better marry and settle down here. There is noth- 
ing so beneficial as to settle down and get married. I'm 
thinking of it myself. 

Hartley. You, well why shouldn't you? To tell the truth 
I have a notion myself that way. The little encouragement 
you gave me yesterday has actually nerved me up to the 
idea. 

Hitt. Nerved you up to the ideal Just why should you, 
at your age, need nerving up I should like to know? 

Hartley. (Hesitating.) Well, to tell the truth, old fellow, 
1 really don't know. I never could tell why one gets rather 
foolish at such times. I suppose it goes with the disease, a 

kind of a symptom but you are a man of experience, 

tell me what is the matter with me anyway? 

Hitt. (Looking at him with curiosity, and then laughing 
slily.) Well, to be frank, if you were thirty years younger 
I should say you were in love. 

Hartley. (Looking a little confused.) Do you think so? 

Hitt. No, I don't think so, really a man of your age isn't 
supposed to be susceptible to the disease. 

Hartley. (Frowning.) I am not so sure, Stuy. 

Hitt. Great heavens, man, you don't mean you really are 
ill love? 



35 



Hartley. I've been thinking about it all night, and if that 
isn't what is the matter with me, then I don't know. It 
can't be worry, for that custom house matter does not seem 
to me to be of any very great importance. There was no real 
need of Renshaw sending for me, but now that I am here 
I don't mind coming back. It is nice to be here once more 
to see you all, and .(Stopping significantly.) 

Hitt. And and what? 

Hartley. (Turning away.) And Zaidee. 

Hitt. Whew! then that is the way the matter stands. 
Really, old fellow, I am only too delighted, really I am. 
(Shows his joy. Hartley seems pleased and goes to Hitt 
and takes his hand.) 

Hartley. I am so glad it pleases you, my dear friend 

but that isn't just the thing that's troubling me do you 

suppose Zaidee really could marry an old man? 

Hitt. I told you yesterday to try, what are you afraid 
of? Men get refused every day, that is nothing. If I 
wanted a girl I would keep on asking for her until she got 
tired of hearing me, and took me out of sheer desperation. 

Hartley. I did rather try, but Zaidee was so mocking and 
teasing that I could make nothing out of her. Now, really, 
Stuy, I couldn't stand it if she is only making fun of me. 
I know it is kind of ridiculous to ask her, and then to have 
her laugh at me why Stuy 

Hitt. (Scratching his head and looking at Hartley with 
a quizzical smile.). Don't you think you are getting rather 
foolish in your old age to balk at such a trifle as that? 

Hartley. But, Stuy, couldn't you just find out, so that it 
would not put me into too awful a position in case she 
couldn't bring herself to the point? 

Hitt. (Making a gesture of impatience.) I say, did it 
ever occur to you that a girl likes to accept or refuse a man 
herself? Now it would be a nice thing for me to do your 
courting. There is one thing certain, Zaidee would never let 
anyone interfere with her affairs, not even me, and if I 
should do so I tremble for the result. 

Hartley. But, Stuy 

Hitt. Don't Stuy me, but get busy that's all I have to 

say. I've got something on my mind, too. 

36 



Hartley. (Turning to him with interest.) You have? If 
I can help you I shall be only too delighted. Pray command 
me. 

Hitt. I too am in the throes of contemplative matrimony. 

Hartley. That reminds me, by the way, what do you know 
about Vesey? 

Hitt. Vesey oh! he's a fine fellow, one of the best 

going. 

Hartley. He is in the custom house, you know. 

Hitt. So I understand. It is really too bad he has to come 
to that. 

Hartley. To that, what do you mean? 

Hitt. Nothing against Vesey. He has had bad luck both 
now and ancestrally 

Hartley. But he comes of a good family, doesn't he? 

Hitt. None better, why he is related to half the streets 
of New York, and some of the squares thrown in. But what 
of that, it isn't worth a fifteenth part as much as to know 
some old Irish boss who couldn't rule in Ireland, and came 
over here to be a king over free people. Columbus should 
be an Irish saint and not Saint Patrick. What did he ever 
do for his country but drive out the snakes, making it neces- 
sary for his countrymen to come for whiskey and snakes 
here. 

Hartley. (Ignoring Hitt^s foolishness.) But the reason I 
am asking is one of importance and concerns me deeply 

Hitt. (Interested.) Oh! I see, about that custom house 
matter 

Hartley. No, not that, it's something far more important. 

Hitt. (Surprised.) More important well all I can say 

I like Vesey, he is a nice fellow, goes everywhere, but of 

course is poor and that, as everyone knows, is a damning 

fact. 

Hartley. Not with me necessarily. This isn't exactly 

my secret but I want advice and I think, perhaps, I am 

entitled to ask it. 

Hitt. (Carelessly.) I am only too ready to give it. I 
am in fact excessively human. 



37 



Hartley. You see I never thought about Clarice marry- 
ing 

Hitt. You haven't? Well, then, I can tell you you are 
about the only man in New York who hasn't. 

Hartley. Indeed, just why her matrimonial aflfairs should 
create such general interest I don't see. 

Hitt. Oh, you don't. Strange, too. It may seem queer, 
but they interest even me and I am not over much in- 
terested in people's affairs. 

Hartley. You are very good, Stuy but in this case I 

want advice. You see the rascal wants to marry 

Hitt. What rascal? 

Hartley. Why, Vesey. 

Hitt. (Starts.) Wants to marry Clarice? 

Hartley. Yes, what is your advice? 

Hitt. Don't let him. 

Hartley. You think he would not make her a good hus- 
band? 

Hitt I don't know that, I have never seen him in that 
capacity. It isn't fair to judge him until he has proved what 
he can do. 

Hartley. (Smiling.) You think she ought to marry a 
widower. 

Hitt. (Seeing the point.) I think it is the best plan. That 
is why I favor your marrying Zaid. 

Hartley. (Pleased.) But putting that aside have you a 
better reason? 

Hitt. I have I want to marry her myself. 

Hartley. What, you? I never supposed you thought of 
marrying. 

Hitt. (Grimly.) Well, when the old boys are all falling 
in love it isn't so strange for me to fall in hne, is it? 

Hartley. Not at all. (Evidently pleased.) The idea is a 
good one. Why don't you put the idea into her head? 

Hitt. I've tried, but somehow her head is a little too thick 
to comprehend the beauty of the situation, in the same light 
that I do. 

Hartley. Hum, this is interesting. It makes me think. 
I will tell you just how the matter stands. Vesey asked me 

38 



for her hand last night and I was cornered rather-^ — I said 

I would think of it in fact I told him if he could clear 

up this custom house matter I would make no objection, but, 
Stuy, I would much rather it were you. Still, you must 

remember you are not in the first flush of youth ('Hitt 

starts) and perhaps Clarice might not think I really don't 

quite know how it would be. 

Hitt. (Anxiously.) You don't think she is in love with 
him? \ 

Hartley. It looked a little that way last night. Perhaps 
a young girl prefers an older man? (Looking at Hitt 
questioningly.) 

Hitt. (With confidence.) I am sure of it. I know Zaidee 
does. (Hartley gives a start of pleasure.) 
Hartley. Are you sure? 

Hitt. (Grimly.) Quite sure. I wish you were as certain 
of Clarice as I am of Zaid. (Enter Zaidee. Hartley goes 
up to her eagerly.) 

Zaidee. I knew you wanted to see me, so I told Clarice 
I would just run in a moment. Oh! you here, Stuy, what 
are you doing here? How do you do, Mr. Hartley? 
Clarice said you were alone and I could come right in. I 
trust I am not intruding. 

Hartley. (Taking her hand affectionately.) No, indeed, 
you never intrude. You are always welcome. Don't I treat 
you always like my own daughter? 

Zaidee. Yes, but 

Hitt. Well, I think I must be going. Good-bye, old fel- 
low. Don't worry, it will all come out right in time. (Shakes 
hands.) 

Hartley. Yes, I suppose so, but it is an awful nuisance. 
(Walking around impatiently.) 

Hitt. (Aside to Zaidee.^ Remember one of us must 
marry. 

Zaidee. (Aside to Hitt and jocosely.) Both. (Hitt goes 
out giving a backward look to Hartley and waving his hand 
to his sister.) 

Zaidee. Well dad (With a mocking laugh.) 

Hartley. (Laughing and turning towards her.) Dad 

why dad? 



Zaidee. You said you always treated me like your own 
daughter, so I suppose you wish me to treat you as I would 
treat my own father. I sometimes kiss my father. 

Hartley. Oh! you do, then there is no reason why 

Zaidee. Oh ! yes there is. It is very nice for you fascinat- 
ing old gentlemen to trifle with young girls, you are hard- 
ened with your European experience, but please don't forget 
that we poor things who haven't any money, and can't go 

to Europe, are not accustomed to such (Looking at him 

shyly.) 

Hartley. Such what? 

Zaidee. Such extensive fatherly affection. 

Hartley. Zaidee, you are mocking me. 

Zaidee. Not a bit, just giving you an example of protec- 
tion- — he — he you believe in protected interests, don't 

you? 

Hartley. I believe in protecting yours. 

Zaidee. (Seating herself comfortably.) In my protecting 
them, of course. 

Hartley. No, in my protecting them. 

Zaidee. (Flippantly.) Do you know, in the hands of a 
child less filial, you might get into trouble by such remarks. 

Hartley. You naughty girl. 

Zaidee. Not naughty at all. Just wise for my years. 

Hartley. (Coming near in a fond way.) You wouldn't 
give me trouble, would you? I have got enough now without 
any more. 

Zaidee. Well, not in that way, but I might if you get to 
be too paternal. There are limits to a child's patience. It 
might occur to me to see just how blase that old heart of 
yours has become over the water. 

Hartley. Oh! but, Zaidee, I am awfully tried just at 
present and you are always so bright and cheering. 

Zaidee. (Changing her manner.) Are you really in 
trouble. I am so sorry. 

Hartley. I know you are. You and Stuy have always 
been such a comfort to us. I don't know what Clarice would 
do without you. 



40 



Zaidee. I am so glad to be a comfort (With a shy 

look) to Clarice. 

Hartley. (Coming closer.) But you are to me also. 

Zaidee. I am so glad. I do like to be of comfort to 

my father. 

Hartley. Oh ! Zaidee, you are an awfully pretty girl. Why 
haven't I noticed it before? 

Zaidee. I am sure I don't know. It's no secret. I have 
known it for a long time. 

Hartley. Oh ! Zaidee ! (Approaching nearer in a tender 
manner.) 

Zaidee. Hush, your secretary is probably not a father, 
and might misunderstand. I hear him coming. (Enter 

TOLMAN.) 

Tolman. Mr. Vesey to see you, sir. 

Hartley. Show him in, and ask him to wait a moment. 
(Exit with Zaidee. Exit Tolman. Vesey enters, opposite.) 

Vesey. I can't I can't. Why are things made so hard 
in this world? How I hate that old custom house and all 
the political gang they have got there. What shall I say, 
and I can't really give Clarice up. I have nothing to offer 
her. nothing at all, and if I get into that miserable mess I 
can't even offer her an unblemished reputation. I merely 
mentioned the matter down there and was received with 
sneers, just sneers. They said I need not come around with 
any of my two penny Fifth Avenue morality, but get right 
down to business. I knew too well what that meant. It 
seems always to be called business. Heavens, though, how 
they do misuse terms. And to tell Clarice, that pure, sweet 
thing, all the wretched stuff they say about her father, I 

simply can't do it. She worships her father, I (Enter 

Clarice.) 

Clarice. Oh! Clarkson, is it all right? 

Vesey. (Taking her in his arms.) All right, I only wish 
it was. 

Clarice. Why, Clarkson, you don't mean to say you 
haven't fixed it all right? And when I asked you to, too. 

Vesey. (Uncomfortable.) I am awfully sorry, but 

Clarice. I see, you don't care for me. 

41 



Vesey. (Distressed.) Care for you! (He looks at her 
reproachfully.) You know I care for you. Please 

Clarice. Well then why didn't you do it as papa asked 
you to? Surely if you are right down there among those 
creatures you might do something, it ought to be just as 
easy as just nothing at all. 

Vesey. There is just nothing in this world that I wouldn't 
do for you, sweetheart, and you know it. 

Clarice. Then you will do it? 

Vesey. I will do what I can, but how can I promise you? 
You don't know these people, they have an entirely different 
view of matters from that you have, they are not of our 
class, in fact they hate us and they are only too glad to see 
us humiliated. That is where the trouble lies, and when your 
father asked me to get him out of this trouble he did not 
know what he was asking. 

Clarice. Oh ! Clarkson, how can you say that, my father 
would not a — ask you to do anything unreasonable. 

Vesey. But he does not understand. He seems to think 
that business is just business 

Clarice. iBut I thought it was. If business isn't business 
then what is it? 

Vesey. Today it is scheming, stealing, bribing 

Clarice. Clarkson I won't have you talk so. 

Vesey. (Frightened.) Excuse me, I didn't mean any 
thing, of course your father 

Clarice. (Proudly.) My father isn't one of those modern 
millionaires who has made his money dishonestly, I am glad 
of that. I should never be able to hold my head up in 
society if I thought there were people who considered I was 
living on stolen money. Thank God my family has always 
been clear of any dishonorable stigma. (Vesey seems dis- 
tressed and downcast. Pause.) Why do you look so queer? 
Isn't it so? 

Vesey. Yes, my dear, I I wasn't thinking of that. 

Clarice. What, then? (Rather sharply.) 

Vesey. I was thinking that that was just what they were 
trying to make out. 

Clarice. Trying to make out! Do you mean they try to 

42 



make out that my father, my poor father, is dishonest? 

Vesey. (Hesitating.) They are trying to put your father 
in a position where he will appear to be just as bad as the 
rest of them. 

Clarice. And you can't stop them and yet you say 

you love me, oh ! Clarkson ! 

Vesey. My dear, how can I help it? What can I do to 
stem this miserable conspiracy? How can I contend with 
men who have the law on their side. 

Clarice. The law on their side! Then you believe he is 
guilty? 

Vesey. (Distressed.) No, I do not believe that at all, but 
they have managed someway to put him in a light where he 
seems guilty, that is to the public. 

Clarice. Do you mean to say the public thinks he is 
guilty? 

Vesey. No, not yet, but they will think so if something is 
not done, and done very soon. 

Clarice. Oh ! then, Clarkson, you will save him. 

Vesey. But they say down there that he can save himself, 
only he doesn't seem to want to. They wink and laugh and 
that is all the satisfaction I can get. It is awfully dirty 
business. They don't tell me much, but they give me un- 
utterable looks and, well, they practically intimate I am 
quite too young to know anything, let alone anything so 
intricate as politics. Now please don't be down on a fellow 
because he isn't up to all the wiliness of the world. You 
wouldn't want me to get mixed up with that sort of thing. 

Clarice. No, of course not, but to think they should say 

father was not honest, and that he is like (Shuddering) 

like those other people. I should think Stuy might do some- 
thing, he and papa are such good friends. 

Vesey. Perhaps he can, he knows a good many of those 
men, and a little pressure brought to bear in the right place 
ofttimes does some wonderful things. 

Clarice. Perhaps he might do something for me. (Laugh- 
ing slily.) 

Vesey. For you, dearest? Why for you? 

Clarice. Don't you think anyone wants to do anything for 
me except you? 

43 



Vesey. Of course, darling (Coming close) but I want to 
do everything myself. 

Clarice. (Laughing.) Perhaps that is the way Stuy feels. 

Vesey. What do you mean? 

Clarice. Oh! nothing. (Seeking to avoid him. He seems 
confused and anxious.) 

Vesey. Clarice, you are provoked v/ith me? 

Clarice. (Petulantly.) Not so very. (Giving him a rather 
queer look.) 

Vesey. (Eagerly.) But you must not be, dear. I certainly 
would do all I could for you and your father. But some 
things I cannot do. 

Clarice. Perhaps Stuy can and, perhaps, he would cer- 
tainly try harder. (Giving Vesey a queer look.) 

Vesey. (Anxious.) What do you mean? You surely do 
mean something. 

Clarice. I don't mean much. I only mean (Vesey 

advances again.) I only mean that I thought you would and 

could do all you promised and you cannot blame me if 

I am a little disturbed at what you told me about father. 

I don't think he understands and I should hate to tell 

him what you told me. 

Vesey. About what they say of him? I should too. I 

hope he will never know about it. He never will if I can 
help it. 

Clarice. Stuy and father are such great friends, I do 

really think he could perhaps I wonder if you could just 

give Stuy a hint so that he won't tell father anything about 
it. Poor father, he is so good, and he ought not to be made 
to suffer just because these people are jealous of his good 
fortunes. Really, Clarkson, it is dreadful the way the world 
treats people who are only trying to do good. I am sure 
Stuy will do all he can to please me, but 

Vesey. But what, dearest? 

Clarice. I hate to ask him. 

Vesey. Hate to ask him, but he is such an intimate friend 
of the family I shouldn't think you would mind that. 

Clarice. I would not yesterday morning. 

Vesey. (Mystified.) Since yesterday morning what 

44 



has happened since yesterday morning? 

Clarice. (Disturbed.) Nothing so very much, only 

Vesey. Tell me, please, won't you? 

Clarice. I don't know that I ought to, it might not be 
right. 

Vesey. (Hurt.) But you would not keep anything away 
from me. 

Clarice. I might some things. 

Vesey. (Touched.) Oh ! (and moving away. Pause) 

what things? 

Clarice. (Disturbed.) Oh ! many things things that 

you ought not to hear of. (Playfully.) 

Vesey. (Angry.) Well, if there are things I ought not 
to hear it certainly is not a good way to begin married life. 

Clarice. (Alarmed.) Don't get angry, Clarkson, I didn't 
mean anything, only 

Vesey. Only there is a good deal in that word only. 

I should like to know what it means in this case. You have 
not been very agreeable this morning 

Clarice. Agreeable! Well, I must say that is certainly 
cool. 

Vesey. Cool, why? I see nothing especially cool about 
that. 

Clarice. No, I suppose not. Really I must say (Getting 

angry) it is a very strange remark for you to make 

especially just now. 

Vesey. Oh ! 

Clarice. And I think that last remark stranger still. 

Vesey. I didn't make any. 

Clarice. But you looked it, that is enough. 

Vesey. Clarice how can you do you want to 

quarrel ? 

Clarice. (With spirit.) No, of course not. You came 
here to tell me you couldn't do anything for father when you 
knew our getting married depended upon it, you act as 
though doing anything for him was too much of an effort. 
I suppose I am not worth an effort. I know I am not of 
much account • but I did think you really cared 



45 



Vesey. Clarice Clarice, how can you talk so? 

Clarice. (Letting herself go.) I can, why not. I was 
terribly disappointed when you came and told me you 
couldn't do anything for dear papa, and then after that awful 
stuff you told about, really, Mr. Vesey 

Vesey. Mr. Vesey oh ! Clarice. 

Clarice. Yes, Mr. Vesey, why not? I don't have to marry 
you, in fact I have had other offers 

Vesey. Since yesterday, since I saw you? 

Clarice. Yes, why not? You may think you are the only 
man in New York. I might have thought so too, at one 

time I believe I did say something that looked like it 

yesterday but a lot can happen in a few hours yes, a 

lot. (Silence, during which he gases at her intently.) 

Vesey. You have found out there are other men 

perhaps oh! I know I was a fool to think it. 

Clarice. (Demurely.) Think what? 

Vesey. To think you really cared for me. Of course 
there are other men, altogether too many for my peace of 
mind. (She looks at him slAly out of her eyes.) Why didn't 
you find that out before? 

Clarice. Oh ! (Thinking) then you thought you were the 

forlorn hope just proposed because you took pity on 

me didn't really have the heart to see me an old maid. 

Ha — ha, I never dreamed you were so kind-hearted. No, 

really, Clarkson I didn't know what a mine of tenderness 

and philanthropy I was getting. (Coming up to him affection- 
ately, but he is in no mood to receive or return her advances, 
and moves away. S'>e is a little disturbed, but sits down 
complacently.) 

Vesey. I suppose you have no intention of mentioning 
what your discoveries in the anthropological line were. 
(Sarcastically.) 

Clarice. Really, that sounds awfully scientific. I never 
associated you with anything so solemn as an anthropological 
creature 

Vesey. (Sarcastically.) Zoological, I suppose. 

Clarice. No, something much nicer. Oh! Clarkson, don't 
be sarcastic with me. 



46 



Vesey. Sarcastic no, I must not be sarcastic. Only a 

fellow likes to know sometimes. 

Clarice. Well, I will tell you, it won't much matter. After 
all I can't keep it from you, you would be sure to know in 
time. And besides there isn't any love in it, so nobody's 
feelings will be hurt. 

Vesey. A proposal, of course I knew 

Clarice. No, you didn't know. It came to me as a sur- 
prise and well 

Vesey. (Eagerly.) You refused him? 

Clarice. No, I didn't. 

Vesey. (Hurt.) What did you do? 

Clarice. I just didn't like to say 

Vesey. Oh! I see, if your father won't let you marry me 
you will marry him. Oh! what a fool I have been. 

Clarice. Please, Clarkson, don!t rush to conclusions so. 
You are not a woman. Just be calm. 

Vesey. (Struggling with himself.) Yes, I am calm. 

Clarice. I did not just like to say how matters stood. I 

couldn't tell him I was engaged and I couldn't very well 

explain it as matters stand. 

Vesey. (Bitterly.) You gave him some hope? 

Clarice. No, I did not. I tried to fence him off, but 

Vesey. But what? You led him on oh! T see 

Clarice. (Laughing.) No, you don't see, you are just a 
little jealous. 

Vesey. How could I help it darling (Coming 

close to her.) 

Clarice. I don't know, I am sure. It goes with a man. 
Now you don't want to know any more, I am sure. 

Vesey. But I am very sure I do. 

Clarice. You had better not Besides I had better not 
tell )'ou. (Enter Hartley.) 

Hartley. How do you do, Mr. Vesey? I suppose you 
have come to tell me you could settle that custom house 
business? 

Vesey. (Uneasily.) I am afraid I have very little to tell 
you. 

Hartley. (Impatiently.) But surely you have learned 

47 



something, you couldn't fail to do that. (Clarice puts her 
finger to her lips.) 

Vesey. Something, perhaps, but nothing that seems helpful. 

Hartley. (Impatiently.) Well, let me hear that. 

Clarice. (Alarmed.) But, papa, Clarkson really hasn't had 
time to hear much. 

Hartley. But, my dear, there is more at stake than this 
custom house matter. Troubles never come singly, and 

Clarice. Oh! papa, you don't mean to say you are in any 
more trouble? 

Hartley. It looks like it, my dear, when I am threatened 
with the loss of my only child. 

Clarice. No, not loss, papa dear. 

Hartley. Not loss ! I am not so sure about that. I think 
there is something on that subject which Mr. Vesey ought 
to know. Perhaps you are not aware, little one, that Mr. 
Vesey is not the only man who wishes to rob my sheep fold. 
(Clarice turns away irritated, which Vesey notices.) I think 
I am only doing right when I tell him my dearest friend 
asked me this morning for the honor of your hand. 

Vesey. Stuyvesant Hitt? 

Hartley. Yes, what have you to say about that? He 
spoke very highly of you. 

Clarice. Papa, you didn't tell? 

Hartley. I certainly did. I think, my dear, I have some 
rights, and I think, too, you are willing to concede those 
rights, if I know my little girl at all well. 

Clarice. Oh ! papa, how could you, how could you ? 

Hartley. Well, my dear, I think this getting married is a 
very serious thing, and when you are married I want it to 
be to the right person. 

Clarice. You mean I cannot marry Clarkson. 

Hartley. No, I did not say that. I have not given my 
permission yet to your marrying Mr. Vesey. I said if he 
won his spurs he could have you. I merely asked that he 
showed his ability to do something to win you. 
' Clarice. (Frightened.) Then did you mean if he did not 
settle this custom house matter that he couldn't have me at 
all? 



48 



Hartley. No, my dear. You do not understand. Mr. 
Vesey is an entire stranger to me. I am willing to give him 
a fair chance. Wlien I said what I did yesterday I had not 
the faintest idea that Stuy ever thought of marrying you. 
I feel that in this matter there are at least four people to 
be consulted. All I ask is for fair play for them all. 

Vesey. And may I ask who are the four? 

Hartley. Certainly. First comes my daughter. I wish 
her to marry the right man- 

Clarice. But I love Clarkson. (Almost shedding tears.) 

Hartley. That I do not doubt, but you will probably love 
more than one man before you die. 

Clarice. Papa, how can you say such things? 

Hartley. Because, my dear, it is usually the case. 

Clarice. But, papa, you why you never loved anyone 

but poor dear mamma ! (Hartley starts and looks at her 
queerly.) Just think of such a thing, it would be awful. 

Hartley. What is that, my dear, I don't think I quite 
gathered what you said. (Rather confused.) 

Clarice. Why, I mean it is simply absurd to think you 
could ever love anybody but mamma. (Vesey smiles.) 

Hartley. (Slowly.) To be sure, my dear, there is a great 
deal of difference between you and me, I mean in respect to 

age. One hum doesn't think about a man of my 

age falling in love 

Vesey. (Quickly, so that Hartley starts.) But it has 
happened, Air. Hartley. 

Hartley. (Trying to keep his composure.) To be sure, 

but er er it has been. I fancy, only in the case of a 

rather, ahem ! weak mind. But never mind me, I think in 
your case, Clarice, a little careful consideration will do no 
harm. You asked for the four, I think that Clarice and I, 
yourself and also Mr. Hitt are to be considered. 

Vesey. (Severely.) Then I am to understand he enters 
the lists, and unless I can do as you ask I am out of the 
running? 

Hartley. Not exactly. I want you and Hitt to each have 
a fair show. That is all I ask, and I do not think it un- 
reasonable to ask it. Do you? 

49 



Vesey. (Thinking.) No, I do not, only somehow 

well, if Clarice, Miss Hartley, prefers Mr. Hitt I have noth- 
ing to say. 

Clarice. Oh! Clarkson, you don't mean to say you give 

me up, oh ! Clarkson, please 

Hartley. Clarice, dear, will you not listen to reason? 
There is no question of giving you up. You think you love 

Mr. Vesey, and no doubt you do now. Maybe a little 

later you may find out you are hasty. I think I have a 
right to ask you, on the behalf of my friend, to consider 

carefully before it is too late. Give Stuy a chance 

Clarice. But he is such an old man. 

Hartley. Age, my dear, has nothing to do with it. You 

can just as well love an old man as a young one I feel 

qui^e strongly on this point I think that there might be 

more stability, more real happiness gained by a match which 

appealed to the er the judgment, in short I think 

it is very proper, all things considered, that a girl should 
marry a man considerably her elder. 

Clarice. Shame, papa, to hear you talk so. One would 
think you had an idea of getting married yourself. 

Hartley. (Confused.) Eh! what, well suppose I did, it 
has been done, and if I did marry (Waxing earnest) I cer- 
tainly should not like to marry an old lady of my age. 
(Vesey and Clarice stare at him in ama::etnent.) But now 
that we understand each other, I shall leave the matter just 
where it is. If Mr. Vesey can show his devotion to you in 
seme decisive way, in fact prove that he is worthy of you, 
then I have nothing to say against him. If he cannot, then 
surely it is only fair that Stuy should have his chance. 
(Enter Tolman.) 

Tolman. Mr. Bangs to see you, sir. 

Hartley. Show him in. (Exit Tolman.) You better go 

out this way. (Bangs enters opposite as they go out.) 

How do you do, Mr. Bangs, take a seat. I haven't had the 

^ pleasure of seeing you before, but you are well known to 

me by reputation. 

Bangs. (Seating himself.) Yes, I guess I'm pretty well 
known, couldn't escape it in New York. The press seems to 

50 



take care of that, haw haw. (Hartley shudders, but 

manages to smile.) 

Hartley. The press is sometimes a great nuisance. 

Bangs. (Helping himself to a cigar from the table. 

Hartley stares.) Yes yes, when it isn't properly 

handled handled, I say. There is nothing like handling 

things right. (Hartley strikes a match and hands it to him.) 

Hartley. (Seating himself slowly.) Yes, I suppose so. 

Bangs. Now I fancy, Hartley, yer don't know much about 
that eh? (Hartley jumps.) 

Hartley. Well (Hesitating) perhaps not. 

Bangs. Now, as I understand the case, you have been 

spendin' yer time in Europe, having a good time eh? 

(Winking hard.) 

Hartley. (Impatient.) Yes, I have had a good time, it 
is true. 

Bangs. Well, nobody blames you, to be sure. We boys 
have to have our good times here, an' we hev it. (Winking 
again.) I fancy you have been led to think, with Parkhurst 

and Anthony watchin' us, we we well have been 

slightly hampered, but we know how to do it, haw haw. 

(Hartley jumps up.) This young New York can give old 
Europe points yet, I tell yer, Hartley, (Hartley jumps again) 
to be sure I've never been over, didn't hev the time, yer 
know, had ter look after the boys an' a few little things, 
yer know. 

Hartley. (Recovering himself and taking his scat.) Yes, 
so I understand. It is because 

Bangs. Yes, I understand. (Winks hard.) Nice little 
place yer hev here. You rich chaps certainly know how ter 
do the thing. Nice room yer hev here, must cost a lot. 

Hartley. Yes, it does cost a little, but we need not discuss 
that now. You see 

Bangs. Now I hev never been able ter afford such a table 
myself. I hev often wondered what they tax one fer that. 

Hartley. That, oh! that wasn't much. 

Bangs, No, I suppose not, that is, not for such as you. I 
never ran a trust. Great things these trusts, makes it damned 
easy fer us fellows. 

51 



Hartley. I don't understand. 

Bangs. (Carelessly.) Oh! just kinder unifies things. 
Only hev ter deal with one man, much nicer. 

Hartley. I wish you would not be quite so direct in your 
remarks. 

Bangs. Direct in my remarks ! (Pausing with his cigar 

in hand.) Oh! I see, I hev been a little too outspoken. 

Didn't know anyone was listenin' (Looks around and draws 
his chair close to Hartley.) 

Hartley. I didn't mean that, no one can hear. 

Bangs. That's good, I never talk business with three 
people. I , 

Hartley, (Seating himself and exercising self control.) 
The fact is I have not paid much attention to my business 
lately, it has been pretty well managed 

Bangs. I should think so if one can size a business 

up by the cash it takes in. 

Hartley. (Shuddering.) Yes, it has paid, it is true, but 
then it should pay. Our country, our vast country, is only 
expanding 

Bangs. Of course, of course. 

Hartley. (Amajsed.) It is expanding, and naturally those 
firms already established should reap their legitimate reward. 

Bangs. Sure, sure, and in reapin' their rewards they should 
remember those who hev helped on this expansion 

Hartley. Ahem 

Bangs. (Growing enthusiastic.) Those who hev made the 
country what it is. 

Hartley. I am afraid I do not understand you. 

Bangs. Understand me, man, why those who have guided 
this country into those ways such that a smart man can get 
the fruits of his labor. 

Hartley. Fruits of his labor, be so good as to explain. 
I thought that every man was protected in the possession of 
his own. 

Bangs. To be sure, to be sure. But what I wanter know 
is who protects him? 

Hartley. (Severely.) The government, of course. What 
do we have a government for? 

52 



Bangs. Haw haw the government haw, that 

is good haw — aw. 

Hartley. You don't seem to think much of the govern- 
ment. 

Bangs. (Pulling himself together.) You are quite mis- 
taken. I think a lot of the government. It's the best 
machine I know of, it is the best arranged, the best put 
together, the best qualified for its work of any I know of. 

Hartley. But then I would like to have you explain. 

Bangs. Why, the government, Hartley, is a first class loco- 
motive, it's all there but that locomotive has gotter be 

run. 
Hartley. Yes, I suppose so. 

Bangs. Well, who is goin' ter run it? You haven't been 
so damn blind as not to see some one has gotter run that 
engine. 

Hartley. Yes perhaps I see. 

Bangs. You fancy fellers smile at the conductor, invite 
the president of the road to dinner, but you wouldn't even 
speak ter the engineer or fireman, either one of these chaps 
could run you off the track without turning a hair. 
Hartley. True, but I do not yet quite see. 
Bangs. No, yer don't see. Yer fellers thinks because yer 
make yer money easy, an' it is nice over the water, that yer 
haven't another damn thing ter think of. In other words, 

yer get spoiled. Yes spoiled by too much prosperity. 

Hartley. Hum ! 

Bangs. You don't seem ter realize to whom yer owe the 
dandy life yer lead. 

Hartley. (Angry.) I owe what I have to no one but 
myself and my father. 

Bangs. Oh! my boy, is that so? How little yer know 
about life. How little you know how things are done. 
Things don't just grow an' get rich by themselves, it requires 

brains brains, I say, Hartley, old boy, ter make things 

grow, somebody's brains. 

Hartley. (Jumping up.) Yes, brains, I suppose, but I pay 
for the brains to do my work. 
Bangs. Oh ! do you ? 



53 



Hartley. I should say I did, just look at my payroll. 

Bangs. Now look here, Hartley, you don't really know 
anything about it, you are just in the first stages of infancy 
when it comes ter business. 

Hartley. (Enraged.) You insult me. 

Bangs. Nothing of the sort, my boy. I know what I am 
talking about. You sent fer me ter come ter see yer, didn't 
yer? (Hartley nods.) Now if I had wanted ter be dis- 
agreeable I should hev said yer had better come ter see 

me me do yer understand? (Hartley shows his 

amazement.) But we fellers know you hev always done 

the square thing, and we treat gentlemen like gentlemen 

just as gentlemen should. (Putting his thumbs in his arm 
holes.) 

Hartley. (Controlling himself with difficulty.) I confess 
I am a little confused. I had thought the matter was one 
easily arranged 

Bangs. Yes, yes, quite easily arranged arranged be- 
tween gentlemen. 

Hartley. Usually my man Renshaw has seen to these 
things 

Bangs. Yes, Renshaw is a good fellow. Renshaw is all 
right. 

Hartley. (Sternly.) I was greatly surprised to be called 
home so suddenly. 

Bangs. Yes, it was too bad I told Renshaw it wasn't 

necessary but he wouldn't take the responsibility. 

Hartley. He has always been given free play. 

Bangs. But yer see, in this case, it was a little too 

heavy heavy yer see (Looking at him steadily) 

didn't like just ter do it all alone. 

Hartley. All alone! 

Bangs. Yes, all alone, you know. (Very confidentially.) 

Hartley. (Slowly.) All alone. 

Bangs. (Getting closer.) You see, it was a little too ex- 
pensive. 

Hartley. Too expensive, I don't just understand. 

Bangs. You don't? (Dropping his cigar in surprise.) 

Hartley. No, I think you will have to be a little clearer- 



54 



Bangs. Clearer. (Still eyeing him.) Humph ! clearer ! 
Hartley. Yes, clearer. 

Bangs. (Picking up his cigar.) See here, Hartley, I 
didn't come here ter teach no Sunday school class. 
Hartley. I did not suppose you did. 

Bangs. What's yer little game? (Regarding him steadily.) 
Hartley. Game, I have no game. 

Bangs. Well, either you are a sly old duffer or art has 
weakened your mental machinery. 
Hartley. (Rising.) I am very sorry, Mr. Bangs, that I 

have troubled you to this extent, and perhaps I need not 

occupy any more of your valuable time. 

Bangs. Humph ! Well, yer needn't bother about my 
valuable time. I never waste my time. (Sits back comfort- 
ably and smokes complacently.) Sit down and don't get 
excited. 
Hartley. (Aghast.) Excited ! 
Bangs. Ye — es, keep yer shirt on. 
Hartley. (Almost speechless.) Keep my shirt on ! 
Bangs. Ye — es, keep yer shirt on. There hain't no need 
ter strip until yer goin' ter fight. Now yer'n no state ter 

fight, no no haw — haw, no, no, not just now. 

Hartley. I don't know what you mean. 
Bangs. Yer don't know what I mean? Why, man, where 
hev yer been ? Have yer lived over the old pond so long 
yer hev forgotten yer great an' noble country? 

Hartley. (Sitting down slowly.) I utterly fail to under- 
stand why you should come and insult me in my own house. 
Bangs. Bless yer, man, I heven't the least intention. 
Don't mind me. Perhaps I'm not quite so soft as some yer 
meet when yer hobnobbin' with those princes over there, 
but I'm all right. I am honest John Bangs, honest every 
time. 
Hartley. Hum ! 

Bangs. Now, I think I see yer little difficulty. Yer've 
been brought up a little too soft like. Ye're not accustomed 

ter call a spade a spade 

Hartley. (Sarcastically.) I certainly have not been ac- 
customed to calling it a damned shovel, if that is what you 
mean. 

55 



Bangs. Haw— haw no. I see ye're not. Well, well, 

I think we can fix all that. I see I've gotter give you a 
little lesson in practical politics. Good thing politics. Money 
in it, if yer know how ter treat a gentleman like a gentle- 
man. Now yer're a gentleman, an' I'm a gentleman, and 
there won't be any trouble when yer see things right. It's 
all in the way yer see it. 

Hartley. (Patiently.) Perhaps you are right. Pray en- 
lighten my darkness. 

Bangs. (Sitting back in his chair and selecting another 
cigar.) Now, where I made my mistake with you is, I 
thought you knew a little something about yer business. 

Hartley. (Impatiently.) I thought I did. 

Bangs. W^ll, you didn't. (Putting the cigar into his 
pocket.) You have an idea that business is buying some- 
thing' ter day and sellin' it tomorroer. That's the good old 
fashioned idea yer grandfather had. Guess he put a little 
sand into his sugar once in a while haw — haw. 

Hartley. My grandfather was an honest man. 

Bangs. Of course, of course. I haven't a doubt of it 
In fact I never meet any but honest men. D'yer know I 
dcn't believe there are very many men who ain't honest. 
(Hartley is silent, hut contemptuous.) Now the good old 
days, when our Connecticut friends were selling wooden 
nutmegs, have all past. Thank God they have. (With 
fervor.) We hev got now to the time when a man goes 
about his business in an intelligent manner. He starts in 
right, d'ye see? Anyone can go home an' cut open a nut- 
meg, it is foolish ter try such gammon on people, they won't 
stand it. 

Hartley. It's dishonest. 

Bangs. Huh ! Yes, dishonest, of course, it is worse than 
that, it was damned idiotic. Yer see now we hev learned 
people ain't fooled so easily. Yer've gotter be honest with 
people. (Pause.) Yer've gotter obey the law. But yer've 
gotter make money the same time. No business can get on 
without making money, and we hev learned we hev gotter 
be honest an* obey the law. So there was only one thing ter 
do. (Helping himself to another cigar.) It was to make the 

56 



law so a man could be honest and get rich at the same time. 
And we hev. (Pounding his knee and dropping his cigar, 
which he picks up and puts into his pocket.) You under- 
stand, you are rich. 

Hartley. Yes, and I trust honest also. (Severely.) 

Banks. (Looking around.) Sure, of course, ye're honest. 
I am honest. I'm known all over as honest John Bangs. 
Ask the boys, ask the business men, ask all those I come 
into contact with, an' I tell you they'll all say John Bangs 
is honest. (Puffing out his chest.) It pays. I can be 
trusted every time. I thought I had a cigar. (Looking 
around.) Thank you, I guess I will. (Helps himself to 
another. 'Hartley hands him a lighted match with a curious 
smile.) Now, as I was saying, things are a damn sight better 
than the old days. We hev progressed. Progression, I tell 
you, is the thing. Always progress, then you will amount 
to something. Look at our millionaires, look at yourself, 
why, man, if it hadn't been for progression yer'd hev been 
sittin' at a desk doin' stunts with figures, instead of spending 
yer time in Europe advancing in a generous an' noble way 
the interests of the highest profession we hev. 

Hartley. (Drily.) And that is? 

Bangs. Art, art, noble art. Filling our galleries with the 
grandest specimens of the world's genius. Helping those poor 
devils, who may be geniuses, but who fail when the dollars 
are concerned to earn a decent living. Yes, sir, I say it is a 
noble thing to do, noble. Ahem ! Gotter a glass of water 
handy? I'm darned thirsty. (Looking around.) 

Hartley. Certainly. (Rings.) Water in abundance, thanks 
to the water commission, a few typhoid fever germs mixed 
with it, perhaps. 

Bangs. Humph ! Typhoid fever, v/ell a little whiskey won't 
hurt them. (Butler enters.) 

Hartley. Whiskey and soda. (Butler exit.) 

Bangs. Thanks, now yer speak of it water taken plain is 
bad fer the stomach. 

Hartley. So I have heard, but please continue your lecture 
on political economy. 

Bangs. Huh (Enter Butler.) Thanks awfully. 

(Butler exit.) King William, not bad. They say it is better 

57 



than Black and White. (Helps himself liberally.) Yes, 
political economy, haw haw, that's good. It's political, and 
in the long run, damn it, Hartley, it's economy. (Winking 
rather hard.) Now, as I was saying, it requires money to 
do all these noble things, give libraries, build universities, 
buy pictures, endow hospitals, and that money has gotter be 
made. Now yer grandfather couldn't never hev built that 

new wing to the art museum sellin' sand 

Hartley. You mean sugar. 

Bangs. Yes, so I do, of course. Well, as I say, selling 
sugar isn't goin' ter build any of those things, and those 
things must be had. What a country this would be if we 
had no art museums, no hospitals, no libraries. You can't 
earn them things by workin' by the day, you hev gotter 
combine, yer hev gotter put together yer energies, and so 
yer can roll money together an' become rich. Now, what I 
wanter know is how yer goin' ter roll money together with- 
out help? You got a business yer dad left yer, that business 
has growed and growed, and how did it grow? Did it grow 
all alone? Yer take a boy, he grows, ter be sure, but what 
kind of boy is he, unless he has the beniffercent education 
that this great age can give him. We take everything that 
comes along as all right, without thinking what it is that 
makes it. Now, what would yer business amount to if just 
left ter itself. That's what I would like ter know. 

Hartley. Of course it was managed. 

Bangs. Managed, managed what's management with- 
out pertection, that's the point. Do you suppose yer'd have 
had yer money all right if yer'd not been watched and 
shielded by some one? No siree. There are too many 
wantin' the same chance, wantin' ter make the same money, 
wantin', yes, I believe it, wantin' ter endow hospitals, build 
libraries, and establish universities. I believe in the good- 
ness of human nature, and these people hev gotter hev money 
tei do it. To make money yer hev gotter hev some kind 
of protection, and, thank God, yer've got it. Yer've got a 
government that looks after yer interests, and makes yer 
name an honored name wherever yer go. Yes, yer've got 
money, an' the world knows it. 

58 



Hartley. I am aware the government protects me, as it 
should every American citizen. 

Bangs. Of course, of course. (Helps himself to more 
whiskey. Puts cigar into his pocket.) But it isn't just that, 
don't yer know, the government protects some citizens more 
than others. 

Hartley. That hardly seems fair. 

Bangs. Fair, of course it's fair. Some citizens hev ter 
endow things, and of course they get more pertection than 
others, who are too poor or too damn stingy ter do it. 

Hartley. I had never thought of it in that light before. 

Bangs. Of course not, you haven't had time. Yer've left 
that ter Renshaw. Renshaw is a good fellow, he understands 
business, but he is weak, he lacks grit. 

Hartley. How do you mean? 

Bangs. (Taking more whiskey.) He says he doesn't like 
ter take too much responsibility. He wanted me ter come 
ter see, so I did. But goodness, man, I supposed he had 
told you all about business, and yer understood. 

Hartley. Well, continue your lecture on political economy. 

Bangs. Haw haw that's good. It's perlitical, and 

it's economy, as yer will find it in the end. Yer know yer 
never get anything in this bloomin' world unless yer pay 
fer it. 

Hartley. Rather hard philosophy, I fancy. 

Bangs. Perhaps, but somebody's always gotter pay in the 
end. Now, you rich fellers get yer money easily, an' yer spend 
it easily. But there has got always ter be some payin'. Per- 
haps yer think because yer get a good deal, and pay little, 
you don't pay at all. But yer do. Ask Renshaw, he knows. 

Hartley. Well hum I suppose one contributes 

Bangs. That's just it. Yer contribute. Contribute is a 
good word. Yer contribute ter charity, it makes yer feel 
good, yer get a lot of good feelin' fer very little pay, but 
it is pay all the same, an' yer know it. (Taking more 
whiskey.) Yer give ter charity ter stop the mouths of those 
damn fault-finders, those damned rascals that'd burn yer 
house down if yer didn't. 

Hartley. I hadn't looked at it in just that light. 

59 



Bangs. Well then, do. Yer payin' ter keep things straight, 
an' yer's gotter pay ter keep them straight, and what's more, 
there is the government that is above it all that keeps every- 
thing straight, an' yer've gotter pay fer it. 

Hartley. I should think we did. Our taxes are quite high 
enough. 

Bangs. Taxes, what are taxes ter a man like you? Just 
nothin', but it isn't taxes it's pay d'ye understand? 

Hartley. I think I have always paid if not one way 

then in another. 

Bangs. But yer haven't paid enough. Somethin', yes, but 
what? Do yer know what yer made last year? 

Hartley. (With impatience.) Not exactly. 

Bangs. Well, I do. T know exactly exactly, d'ye 

understand ? 

Hartfey. (Indignant.) 1 cannot just see Avhy or how you 
know exactly my income. 

Bangs. Yer don't? Well, I wanter tell yer this, this is a 
benerverlent government, it is a paternal government, it looks 
after its children, an' if its children get goin' a little too 
frisky like, I wanter tell you, it steps right in an' regulates 
things. That's right. But, bless yer, yer don't suppose this 
paternal benerverlent government is goin' ter do this all fer 
nothing. The government has gotter live, (Pause, in which 
he takes another cigar, having put the last into his pocket.) 
Now, how do yer suppose we can be a paternal government 
and not keep track of things? There are such things as 
ungrateful children, (Eyes Hartley severely) and unless I 
am damned mistaken you are one. (Hartley jumps up, 
keeping down !:is wrath with difficulty.) These people who 
think things just come their way are mistaken. Things don't 
come, they hes ter be brought, (Silence) and there is such 
a thing as beastly ingratitude. (Still silence.) Well, ain't 
yer goin' ter say somethin'? 

Hartley. Say, v/hat have I got to say? I can't say any- 
thing. 

Bangs. (Taking more whiskey.) Haw haw, they say 

money talks, yer've got money, make it talk, man, make it 
talk. (Hartley starts.) Yer wouldn't keep a phonograph in 
a box all the time, would yer? 

Hartley. (Incisively.) No, but I don't like phonographs. 
60 



Bangs. No, I suppose not, no art in a phonograph, just 
plain talk, but interestin' talk, yer know. Now money talks 
two ways, sometimes. Sometimes it is very pretty when it 
is all art and music, but usually talk means somethin', it 
means business. You men don't go down on Wall Street 
ter sing. You come right ter the point, yer do business. 
(Pause.) Well, it kinder seems ter me it's about time yer 
turned yer phonograph off from those dance tunes, an' let it 
do a little plain, straightforward work. 

Hartley. You mean (Hesitating.) 

Bangs. Yes, Hartley, I mean it's time fer yer ter stop 
yer fancy business with yer cash an' come down ter hard 
facts, get down ter business, like. 

Hartley. You mean that I should use my money where 
and in a way in which it will tell. 

Bangs. Sure, what in hell did yer send fer me for if yer 
merely wanted ter talk of the spring flowers? I ain't in- 
terested in botany, I am a business man. I came here at 
yer invitation, it was your place ter come ter see me, but yer 
man's alius been a gentleman, an' I treats gentlemen as 
gentlemen, as gentlemen should. 

Hartley. I trust I have treated you like a gentleman. 

Bangs. Sure, (Taking a drink of whiskey) sure, damn 
fine whiskey, but yer don't seem ter be quite up ter business, 
that's all. 

Hartley. Business! that is what you call it? 

Bangs. Sure, what would yer call it, art? 

Hartley. (Walking around seeking to check his speech.) 
I trust you do not mean to be impertinent. 

Bangs. (Staring.) Impertinent! (Pause.) Bless yer, no, 
what made yer think that? (Long pause.) 

Hartley. You come here and ask some very strange things. 
(Struggling with himself.) 

Bangs. Strange things. (Takes another glass of whiskey, 
also helps himself to another cigar.) Hum strange things ! 

Hartley. Yes, you come into my house 

Bangs. You sent fer me. 

Hartley. True, you come into my house and you talk 
things which I do not understand. (Still trying to subdue his 
wrath.) 

61 



Bangs. (With easy self-satisfaction.) I told yer that yer 
didn't understan' business. 

Hartley. (Exasperated.) Understand business! I don't 
understand bribery. 

Bangs. Yer don't understan' bribery don't understan' 

bribery ! 

Hartley. (Sharply.) Yes, bribery. (Bangs rises slowly 
from his chair and looks at Hartley for a moment.) 

Bangs. Yer don't understan' bribery. Yer say that ter me, 
ter Honest John Bangs, ter his face? 

Hartley. (Defiant.) Yes, why not, that is what you pro- 
posed? 

Bangs. An' yer say that ter my face ter me ter 

Honest John Bangs? 

Hartley. I don't know what you call it, but that is the 
way it looks to me. 

Bangs. To you? (Very quietly.) You have asked 
Honest John Bangs here to your house to insult him. 

Hartley. (Hotly.) You came here to insult me. 

Bangs. (Sadly.) I never insult people. I know better. I 
never ask a man to partake of my hospitality and then call 
him a thief. 

Hartley. I did not call you a thief. 

Bangs. It is just the same. You said I wanted to be 
bribed, and I'd like ter know what that is if it isn't stealing, 
or just as good. 

Hartley. (Losing patience.) But what do you call it, then, 
if it isn't bribery, getting money from a man to do dirty 
work. 

Bangs. (Aghast.) To do dirty work! I am afraid I do 
not understand you. 

Hartley. Well, if it isn't dirty work I would like to know 
what it is? 

Bangs. (Eyeing him carefully.) Oh ! you would, yer'd 
like to know just what it is. Perhaps yer'll know before 
loijg. Perhaps yer'll hev yer eye teeth cut. Perhaps yer'll 
know a gentleman when yer see one, perhaps yer won't be 
askin' a man to take of yer poor hospitality an' then call 
him a thief. Perhaps yer'll learn somethin' about art, a kind 
of art that doesn't mean gettin' drunk in Europe, an' jinin' 

62 



churches in New York. Perhaps yer'll think a little more of 
Honest John Bangs when yer know more about him. But 
1 won't say any more. I told yer money talks. It's done all 
the talkin' ye ever did, and it'll do a lot more talkin' before 
yer git through. I tell yer that this great and glorious coun- 
try isn't goin' ter be run by any of yer for'n folks who call 
themselves Americans, just because a kind and too benever- 
lent government lets them. But we've fixed that lately, yer've 
gotter come back now in tv/o years, or this beneverlent gov- 
ernment won't own yer. And this spendin' yer money in 
Europe has gotter stop. It's good old Uncle Sam that's 
givin' it to yer, and it's good old Uncle Sam that's goin' ter 
see that it's his children what's goin' ter hev the benerfit. 
Yer think jes because I'm a patriotic American citizen, 
laborin' an' strugglin' to help the dear old country along, 
puttin' up with all sorts of insults from people who call 
themselves my betters, who think because they live on 
stealins 

Hartley. What what do you mean? 

Bangs. I mean jes' what I say. Live on their stealins 

Hartley. Do you mean to say I live on stolen money? 

Bangs. That's jes' what I mean ter say. 

Hartley. (Exasperated beyond control.) You you 

hound, you come here and try to bribe me, you come and 
take my cigars 

Bangs. (Complacently.) You ask me to yer house, yer 
treat me to cigars, you then call me a briber, and then a 

thief Well, as you like. Just as you like, Mr. Hartley. 

Just as you like. Them's that dance pay the fiddler. I guess 
you'll know a great American patriot when yer see one next 
time. He doesn't deal in stocks, or oil, or steel, he is just 
a hard workin' man, who's trying ter help his poor country- 
men, who don't steal their bread, but work an' earn it, an' 
are thankful ter git it. and git it without cheatin'. I am 
goin* now. Yer'll be wantin' ter see me next time. Yer 
come ter me an' I'll give yer Black and White, an' I won't 
call yer a thief either, if yer trust ter my hospitality. Good 
day, Mr. Hartley. (Exit. Hartley walks around and dumbly 
expresses his feelings.) 

Curtain. 

63 



ACT III. 

Scene. — Hartlev's library. Time. — Next morning. Enter 
Zaidee and Clarice. 
Clarice. Oh ! Zaid, I am so glad you came in. I am in 
an awful trouble. 

Zaidee. Over this custom house matter? But don't worry 
about that, it will all come out right. Besides, Stuy laughs 
at it. He says it is only a matter of money, and goodness 
knows, dear, your father has more of that than he can 
possibly get rid of. 

Clarice. It isn't money, Zaid, it is something far more 

it's my father's good name. 

Zaidee. Your father's good name ! What is the matter 
with that? (Anxious.) 

Clarice. Nothing really, but they are trying to take it 
away from him, and, Zaid, I am so worried, so worried. 
Zaidee. If that is the case, so am I. 
Clarice. (Looking at her quickly.) Why? 
Zaidee. (A little startled.) I ! why not, I hope you don't 
think I have no interest in the good name of my friends. 
Besides (Looking at Clarice inquiringly) your father has 
always been especially near to me, how could it be otherwise? 
I wonder if I can tell this child? (Aside.) 

Clarice. You are so kind, you and Stuy, awfully kind, 
and always have been. And I am in such trouble! (Lays 
her head on Zaidee's shoulder.) 

Zaidee. Come now, dear, don't take it so hard, I know it 
will all come out all right. Stuy says the officials are always 
making trouble, that is so as to get more money. 

Clarice. (Sobbing.) It isn't that, no. dear Zaid, it is 
something else. 

Zaidee. My dear. (Patting her back.) 

Clarice. You see, Zaid, I want to marry Qarkson 

Zaidee. Why, Clarice, you don't mean to say 

Clarice. I do, and we are having such an awful time 

65 



Oh ! dear, I am so unhappy so unhappy ! 

Zaidee. But, Clarice, what is the trouble? He is a splen- 
did fellow, and everything a man should be. 

Clarice. But papa doesn't know him very well and, 

well, he is poor, and, oh! dear oh! dear 

Zaidee. Poor! Well, most of us are that One can't 
always marry a person with just the same amount of money, 
it isn't practicable. I hope he doesn't expect you to marry 
a man who has as much mone}' as you will have some day. 
If he does you will have to marry a fool or be an old maid. 
T am very sure I feel no conscientious scruples in marrying 
a man who has more money than I have, if I did I fear we 
should both be in the poorhouse in a month. 

Clarice. Papa isn't just that way, he doesn't care about 
the money, but he has got someone else in mind. 

Zaidee. They generally do have. One's relatives always 
seem to think your getting married is entirely their business. 
As for myself. I fancy I am the one to be suited, and I do 
not intend to let relatives stand in my way. 

Clarice. But, Zaid, you don't expect to get married, do 
you? 

Zaidee. My dear, 1 may be some older than you, but T 
want you to understand that hope springs eternal in every 
maiden's breast, quite irrespective of age. 

Clarice. \ didn't mean that, Zaid, but somehow I never 
thought of your marrying, it seems so strange. 

Zaidee. Does it? Just why the fondest idea of my life 
should have been hidden from your penetration merely shows 
how careful I have been to conceal a forlorn hope 

Clarice. Don't talk that way, you know you could have 
any man you want, but you always trifle so with them all, 
you frighten them off. I have heard a lot of men say the 
fellow that undertook to be your lord and master would have 
his life's work cut out for him. 

Zaidee. Oh! is that the reason 1 am allowed to vegetate? 
I will correct the impression. Perhaps, dear, you can help 
jne. 

Clarice. \ will when the time comes. 

Zaidee. (Eagerly.) Will you? You sweet thing! 

66 



Clarice. Zaid, if I didn't know better, T should believe 
you were in love. 

Zaidee. I may be, who knows, but tell me what this is 
about. You say it isn't money, then what is the objection? 

Clarice. Papa wants me to marry a man older. 

Zaidee. I approve of your father's ideas. 

Clarice. Clarkson is older, he is at least two years older. 
The man papa wants me to marry is nearly fifteen years 
older, think of that. 

Zaidee. (Making a face.) Well, that isn't so very much 
after all. I have heard of a greater difference than that, 
that is between an older man and his wife, and I have reason 
to believe people could be very happy with such a discrepancy. 

Clarice. But, Zaid, you know very well you wouldn't 
marry a man so much older, now would you? 

Zaidee. (Embarrassed.) I think it would depend on the 
man. For my part I would rather marry a man well settled 
in life, a man who had had large experience, who had had 
time to cultivate his intellect, in short, one who would not 
only seem, but who would be, my superior. 

Clarice. Well. Clarkson is mine. You don't know Clark- 
son. 

Zaidee. Yes I do. I have always known him, but he is a 
little young for my set, and I really think the best fellow in 
it. If you are sure you care for him, Qarice, my dear, I 
should say marry him by all means. Your father will never 
stand in your way, of that I am sure. 

Clarice. But you don't quite understand, Zaid I don't 

know as 1 ought to tell you. 

Zaidee. Tell what you like, my dear. I think I can keep 
almost any secret if I have disguised from you for years my 
mad craving to get married. 

Clarice. I know you can but this may come rather 

near home. 

Zaidee. Oh! did your father mention one man especially? 

Clarice. Yes. 

Zaidee. Ah ! I see it is Stuy he has spoken to your 

father ? 

Clarice. Yes, how did you know? 

67 



Zaidee. Because he told me he intended doing something 
of the sort. 

Clarice. Of course, then, you don't want me to marry 
Clarkson. 

Zaidee. But of course I do, you don't care for Stuy 

you and he have been like brother and sister 

Clarice. Why don't you say uncle and niece, that is the 
way he put it. 

Zaidee. Oh! then, he has spoken to you? I like uncle 
and niece better. 

Clarice. Of course. He seems to think I think him too 
old, but I couldn't tell him about Clarkson, not just yet. 

Zaidee. No, of course not, not just yet. But do tell him 
when you have a good chance. You won't have any trouble 
from him if he learns the truth. 

Clarice. No, I suppose not, and he will understand, surely, 
how impossible it is for a young girl to marry an old man. 

Zaidee. (Sharply.) I didn't say anything of the kind, 
quite the contrary. You couldn't have heard what I said. 

Clarice. Yes I did, and from the way you act I really 
believe you have an old man in mind. 

Zaidee. I have, I should think you could guess that much. 

Clarice. But, Zaid, don't make a fool of yourself, please 
don't. 

Zaidee. (Sharply.) I don't intend to. I intend to do 
something quite the contrary. I don't think it would be so 
absurd as you try to make out. Do you think a girl would 
be a fool to marry your father? 

Clarice. Zaidee, don't make fun of my father, it isn't 
respectful you know what my father is to me. 

Zaidee. Oh! I only used it only as an illustration. 

It wouldn't be at all surprising, however, if some designing 
female did capture him. 

Clarice. Never. Of one thing I am sure, he could never 
forget himself, and he could never forget my mother. 

Zaidee. Ah! yes, 1 forgot. Pardon me, dear. I do hope 

<you and Clarkson will be happy and I think you hope 

some day I too may be happy. 

Clarice. Of course, dear. 



68 



Zaidee. And you would do all you could to make me 
happy. 

Clarice. How can you doubt it? 

Zaidee. (Tenderly.) Some day, little one, I shall ask you 
to do it. (Enter HittJ 

Hitt. I thought I should find you here. How are you, 
Clarice, today? I trust your varied and deep emotions 
during the last few hours have not worn on you? 

Zaidee. Oh ! Stuy, can't you ever be the reverse of 

frivolous? I must go, Clarice, I have been here too long 
now. (Looking at her watch. Exit.) 

Hitt. Well? What is the state of your disposition this 

morning? Still insist on calling me Mr. Hitt or is it 

to be uncle? Still bent on repelling my kindly, if mistaken 
overtures ? 

Clarice. Come now, Stuy. li you will insist on it be 
nice and stop fooling. I am in a peck of trouble. 

Hitt. (Sitting down beside her and taking her hand.) 
Well, I am only too ready to get you out if I can. 

Clarice. You can if you will and I know, yes, 

Stuy, dear, we are such old friends and I love Zaid so 

Hitt. That doesn't do me very much good, so far as I 
can see. 

Clarice. Oh! yes it will. You are not so heartless as 
you try to make out, you know you are not. 

Hitt. Hum, I thought I was rather trying to make out 
something else. 

Clarice. Yes, I know, but that is foolish, you know, be- 
cause well 

Hitt. Well, because? 

Clarice. You know I never could love you, and 

well I do 

Hitt. You love another, and that other is 

Clarice. Can't you guess. 

Hitt. Yes, I think I can, and I think he is a mighty good 
fellow. So, you little schemer, beard the lion in his den 
and boldly ask me to stand aside, do you? 

Clarice. (Shily.) Yes, if you please, if you don't mind 
doing that much for me. 



69 



Hitt. No, 1 don't mind doing that for you, little one, 
no, indeed, for, after all, I do want to see you happy. You 
and your father come nearer to me than anyone, unless it 
is Zaid, and if I must, then I must. 

Clarice. (Tenderly.) Then it won't make any difference 
with you I mean 

Hitt. (Getting up and walking around.) Well no, I 

suppose not. Oh ! no, proposing to a girl and being told she 
loves another isn't really anything, just a funny little cir- 
cumstance yes, that is all right, my dear. I will just be 

your uncle may I? 

Clarice. Yes, certainly, if you wish it it is really better 

than being my brother, that is so commonplace. I have too 
many brothers already of that kind. 

I^itf. Remember, then, I claim your promise. Now I 
must try and find your father. Good-bye. By the way, 
where is he? 

Clarice. Out in the stables, I think. (Hitt exit.) Now 
what is the matter? Is there something more that I don't 
know of. Wihy is he so daft on having me call him uncle? 
(Enter Butler.) 

Butler. Mr. Vesey, mam. 

Clarice. Show him in. (Vesey enters, goes up to 
Clarice and kisses her.) 

Clarice. Oh! Clarkson ! Have you anything new? 

Vesey. I am sorry, my dear, I have not. (Takes a seat 
and she sits near.) 

Clarice. I have worried and worried, and I don't see why 
they must make us so much trouble. 

Vesey. It is the lot of man. Do you know, Qarice, I lay 
awake last night all night long 

Clarice. You did? I am sorry. 

Vesey. And I have been thinking matters over and, 

do you know, I think, perhaps, your father may be right. 

Clarice. (Jumping up.) You think he is right. Oh! 

Vesey. Come and sit down, won't you, a moment? 

Clarice. (Loftily.) No, I don't care to. I need exer- 
cise. (Laughing a little.) 

Vesey. (Surprised.) My dear, what is the matter? Come 
and have a little talk with me, won't you? 

70 



Clarice. (Coolly.) I can talk standing up. What a mercy 

it would be if a woman had to sit when she said anything 

she would have a great deal less trouble. 

Vesey. Clarice ! 

Clarice. (Impatiently.) Yes. Clarkson. 1 hear you. Go 
on. 

Vesey. (Looking a little mystified.) I was going to say 
that at the present time our engagement seems to cause a 
great deal of 

Clarice. Yes, I know, causes you a great deal of 
trouble 

Vesey. Clarice, how can you talk so? 

Clarice, I am not talking so. it is 3^ou that is talking so. 

Vesey. (Innocently.) How ? 

Clarice. So very unkindly. 

Vesey. Won't you please listen? 

Clarice. I am listening, what did you think I was doing? 
Not going to sleep, surely. 

Vesey. (A little angry by this time.) I was only going to 
say that as your father seems to object to me as a suitor, 
and his heart is 

Clarice. I don't know anything about his heart. It is all 
right, I fancy. 

Vesey. (Patiently.) His mind, then, seems set on Hitt, 
T don't really feel 

Clarice. No, I see you don't. That is just the trouble, 
you don't feel. I should like you to explain what kind of 
an internal arrangement you have where most people feel. 

Vesey. Clarice, won't you just listen for a moment. 

Clarice. I am listening. 

Vesey. I think it would be well if we just keep quiet 
for the time, and let your father have his way 

Clarice. Oh! T see, and let him marry me. Tt might be 
a good idea. 

Vesey. I don't mean that, you know 

Clarice. Well, I do, now that you have put it into my 

head. I 1 had thought perhaps the idea would not be 

agreeable to you, but I dreaded to propose it, knowing your 
somewhat hasty disposition 

P^esey. Aly hasty disposition! 

71 



Clarice. (Bitterly.) I was afraid you might do something 

dangerous, you know something rash and, well, poor 

papa has enough trouble as it is without a scandal on his 
hands. . 

Vesey. Scandal ! 

Clarice. Yes, if you should do something just now to 

cause talk, there would be an awful lot said in the papers 

and, well, perhaps, you are right we will just drop the 

matter for the present 

Vesey. (Alarmed.) Clarice, don't take it so, please don't, 
I was only 

Clarice. Just going to suggest 1 know and it 

is really too much to ask to have you soil your hands with 

any of those politicians I really couldn't ask it 

(Vesey stands bewildered) I really should not want it. (A 

little mockingly.) Papa will come out all right, and 

perhaps Stuy can do something after all. I always had 

a great regard for Stuy he has always been well, 

he is older and there is a great deal in what you say 

about father he can think calmly. 

Vesey. Qarice, darling, you are angry. (Hurt.) 

Clarice. No, not in the least only returning to my 

senses and my moral reason Oh! no, don't think it. 

Vesey. You really care for Hitt? (Jealously.) 

Clarice. No, not now that is, not yet but, 

perhaps, as papa wants, I may be able to after a while. 

Vesey. Oh! Clarice, Clarice (Enter Hartley and 

Hitt. Hitt grasps Vesey's hand heartily, which Vesey 
yields slowly and with dignity.) 

Hitt. Let me congratulate you, old fellow. I wish you 
every happiness. 

Hartley. (Surprised.) Every happiness! Well, what is 
this. 

Hitt. On winning Clarice, and you, too, young woman, 
I know you will be happy. (He shakes her hand with 
effusion.) I should never stand in the way of your happi- 
ness, my child. 

Hartley. I must say this is sudden, what does it mean? 

Hitt. Only that the little girl has been begging my help, 
and she can have it. 

72 



Clarice. (Cuttingly.) Then don't be too ready to give me 
up. 

Hitt. What, what? (Looking at Vesey and seeing his 
angry appearance.) 

Vesey. I will say good day. (Picking up his hat and 
going out, while the rest stand amased.) 

Hartley. My dear, can you explain that young man? 

Clarice. No, I cannot. (Bitterly, and going out somewhat 
hastily in the opposite direction.) 

Hartley. Well, Stuy, here is your chance. But about that 
plagued matter I must say I am mad clear through. 

Hitt. Mad at what? You do look a little excited. 

Hartley. I can tell you, Stuy, because you are a friend 
of mine, and you will understand. 

Hitt. I will do my best. (Pleasantly.) 

Hartley. You always do cheer one up, Stuy. You and 
your sister have always been good friends of mine, and I 
want friends now. 

Hitt. You do? You want friends, come, you are joking.. 
Of all the men I know who want friends you are the very 
last. 

Hartley. But I do, Stuy, I do. I have been insulted, right 
here in my own study, in a way I thought could never happen 
to me. 

Hitt. Insulted in your own study ! Why, man, what is 
the matter? 

Hartley. (Somewhat overcome.) Yes, right here, by one 
of those rascally politicians. I knew we had such things, 
but I supposed they knew enough to keep their place. 

Hitt. Hum. I had heard something of this. Of course 
they are a bad lot, that goes without saying. But why they 
should insult you I do not quite see. Surely it could hardly 
be for their interest. 

Hartley. Why, he actually asked me for a bribe. 

Hitt. He did? Well, that isn't so very strange. It has 
been done, you know. You haven't entirely forgotten the 
habits of the dear old country, have you, while you were 
away? 

Hartley. Don't laugh, Stuy. This is a very serious matter. 
A man comes to me who had, as I supposed, led a perfectly 

73 



honest and honorable life, and actually proposed to me to 
give him a bribe. Why, Stuy, it's unheard of. 

Hitt. Yes, by you, old friend. But we who stay at home 
and bear the heat and burden of the day, so to speak, know 
a lot about that. I wouldn't mind that much. One must 
get accustomed to Rome, you know, if you live there. The 
way the Romans do may not always be pleasant. 

Hartley. iBut that isn't the worst of it. He actually 
insulted me, said I was living on stolen money. (Hitt smiles 
aside.) 

Hitt. He did? Well that was pretty bad to say 

to one's face. I don't quite think anyone would like that, 
not even our great financiers. There ought always to be 
something like good taste displayed in all walks of life. 

Hartley. EJut, Stuy. you don't think I am living on stolen 
money 

Hitt. You you live on stolen money ! Why, do you 

know, Hartley, it has been the one pride of my life to think 
1 had one friend with money who did not steal it. Of all 
the men I know, 1 know of none who can show a cleaner 
record than you. 

Hartley. Thank you. Stuy, 1 am glad to hear you say it. 
I have always tried to lead a decent life, at least. 

Hitt. Well, you have, so don't let that worry you. But 
what set this old rascal going? By the way, who was he? 

Hartley. Bangs, you know him ? 

Hitt. Know him! (Laughing.) 1 fancy there are mighty 
few who don't. He is considered the slickest rascal, and the 
most saintly going. Bangs, ha ha. Honest John Bangs. Never 

known to go back on a friend or forgive an enemy. I 

hope you treated him well. 

Hartley. Treated him well. Treat a man well who openly 
asks for a bribe! T did treat him well, that is, I stood his 
impudence until 1 couldn't stand it any longer, and then I 
asked him what he meant by coming to me for a bribe. 
("Hitt looks at Hartley attentively.) 

Hitt. And that, I suppose, surprised him. 

Hartley. He seemed much hurt, and, I fancy, angry. At 
any rate he treated me to something which I suppose would 
be called sentimental twaddle in a man like him. 

74 



Hitt. Hum, so he went out angry. I can imagine he did. 
I beHeve it is his boast that he never took a bribe. His 
honesty seems to have got on his nerves. I can't imagine 
he will ever forget his experience. Perhaps it will do him 
good. 

Hartley. 1 hope it will. When a man comes to me like 
that, really, it upsets me. 

Hitt. Just what was it about ? ., 

Hartley. Oh ! that old custom house business. I left all 
that to Renshaw, and he had to send for me because he said 
he couldn't undertake the responsibility. 

Hitt. What responsibility? (Looking at Hartley with 
attention.) 

Hartley. (Uneasily.) Oh ! something, 1 don't know what. 
Renshaw makes a lot of fuss every once in a while, but I 
can't bother with details. The business goes on and makes 
money, and, of course, I don't worry. 

Hitt. But business requires a good deal of responsibility, 
sometimes. 

Hartley. So it seems. This was to do with the estimates. 
I believe the custom house men say the estimates were not 
right, something like that, and now they propose to go into 
the matter to find out if anything was wrong. Of course 
it is clear they want money. 

Hitt. More money? 

Hartley. More money, what do you mean? 

Hitt. (Hesitating.) Mean, why I don't know as I 

mean anything. 

Hartley. Oh! yes you do, Stuy. You mean something. 
Tell it right out. You are a friend of mine, and I want to 
know it all. 

Hitt. You don't mind if 1 am quite frank, do you. I 
hate awfully to say anything you won't like. You know, 
Hartley, you are like an unblemished page to me 

Hartley. (Stopping in his walk and searching Hitt's face.) 
Is it so very awful ? 

Hitt. No, not so very awful to me, or to one who has 
lived here and seen things, and known things 

Hartley. You startle me. Please explain. I can hear any- 
thing from you. 

75 



Hitt. Well, my dear friend, I hardly know where to begin. 
You have been protected by your residence abroad, and 
never in 3'our life have you come into contact with the hard 
facts of life as we poor devils have, who have to work for 
their living. Now you have thought because you inherited 
a fine business, that has grown and prospered, that all it 
needed was being let alone. You have never realised that 
competition is very keen, and business men have had to 
resort to all sorts of methods to keep ahead. 

Hartley. But surely they have not had to be dishonest to 
do it. 

Hitt. That depends a good deal upon what you call 
honesty. If I sell you a horse which I know is lame and 
give you to understand it is sound, you would call me dis- 
honest.. 

Hartley. I certainly should. 

Hitt. But if I buy a railroad and issue stock I know to be 
worthless, and you buy some, you say it was a bad invest- 
ment, or it has depreciated. 

Hartley. Yes, I suppose I would. But I wouldn't buy 
your stock. 

Hitt. But lots of people do. Would I be dishonest? 

Hartley. But that is business. (A little uneasy.) 

Hitt. Exactly. Now, when do I cross the line between 
personal dishonesty and business? 

Hartley. But you can't argue that way. Business must 
go on. 

Hitt. Well I am in the horse business, I must live, my 
business must go on. Somebody has got to lose in order 
that others may gain. Money has got to come from some 
source. It doesn't just grow. 

Hartley. I suppose some people make more money than 
others. 

Hitt. To be sure. Now the question arises how do they 
do it? 

Hartley. Why, by competition. If I sell better goods than 
another man I make the most money. 

Hitt. Oh! do you? That was the old idea. Now you 
have got to get ahead of the other man. It isn't the quality 



76 



of the goods, all goods are pretty nearly alike. It is the 
question of who can sell the cheapest. 

Hartley. Of course, the cheapest seller gets the orders. 

Hitt. How are you to get rich and sell at a cheaper rate 
than your competitors? 

Hartley. Why, by getting your goods cheaper, and so be 
able to sell cheaper. 

Hitt. Well, you import your cloth and you are still able 
to find a good market. In other words you have been able 
to get your goods at a less rate than your competitors. 
How have you done it? 

Hartley. I don't know. I leave those things to Renshaw. 

I to tell the truth, I never quite understood how it was 

done. I never bothered. 

Hitt. Well, (Smiling rather significantly) I don't know 
what Renshaw has done, but I know what other successful 
men have done, and I fancy he has done the same. 

Hartley. (Anxiously.) What is that? 

Hitt. He had a pull. 

Hartley. Had a pull? I don't understand. 

Hitt. You don't ? Well, why don't you have a heart to 
heart talk with Renshaw some day and find out? 

Hartley. (Uneasy.)) I I have never quite been able 

to do so. I I have left it to him, and everything seemed 

all right, so I let it go. I don't see why I should interfere. 

Hitt. Now, I do not know the state of the case, but I 
fancy that Renshaw has done as other sharp business men 
have done. He has seen the need of having a pull, and he 
has gone out and got one. We all have to have one in these 
days, unless we are rolling in wealth. 

Hartley. (Innocently.) How do you get a pull? 

Hitt. Well, in different ways. I should say the easiest 
way for you would be to go and buy one. 

Hartley. You mean to bribe someone, that is what Bangs 
said. 

Hitt. I didn't say anything about bribing someone. There 
are many ways of getting a pull. You do something for 
somebody with the expectation that he will do something 
for you. That is a universal law. With you it is easier to 



77 



give money than it is to bother about any other way. With 
me, when I have a pull, 1 have to work for it. 

Hartley. But I don't like the sound of it. 

Hitt. Nor do I. But we have arranged things very nicely. 
I should never so forget myself as to tell a bishop when he 
made a misstatement that he lied. Bishops can't lie from the 
very nature of their profession. But if a poor man told me 
something I didn't believe I should tell him he lied. (Hartley 
makes a gesture of disgust.) So if Johnson, the great 
financier, gives me a tip to buy worthless stock I call it 
shrewdness, and show mine not by not following his advice. 
I am sorry, but that is where we stand today. 

Hartley. It's disgusting. 

Hitt. True, but it is a painful fact. Some years ago the 
business men combined to protect their own interests. They 
succeeded only too well. The rich are very rich, and the 
poor are getting poorer every day. The rich bought up the 
government 

Hartley. Oh ! not quite as bad as that. 

Hitt. Why not? What did you give to the last election? 

Hartley. I ? Oh ! (Starting.) Renshaw sent in a check 
for one hundred thousand \ believe, my friend, you know 
who asked for it. 

Hitt. Exactly. What do you suppose became of the hun- 
dred thousand dollars? 

Hartley. Campaign expenses. 

Hitt. Now, do you believe all the millions raised went 
into campaign expenses? Do you think that anything like 
that amount of money is needed to run a campaign? 

Hartley. It does seem as though it was pretty expensive. 
Where did it go to? 

Hitt. Look here, my friend, you are just a new born 
babe. 

Hartley. That is what Bangs said. 

Hitt. Well, Bangs is right. Don't you know that we 
have no political parties any more? 

* Hartley. I didn't know it. I thought when one party got 
into disfavor then the other party came in. 

Hitt. Nothing of the sort. We have now only politicians 
and people with money. The politicians call themselves one 

78 



thing or another, in the long run they are just politicians. 
You sent for Bangs, he is a Republican. If you had sent 
for O'Houllihan it would have done just as well. O'Houlli- 
han would have fixed it up all right with Bangs. 

Hartley. But, Stuy, 1 don't understand. I thought the 
two parties were against each other. 

Hitt. They are not. They have progressed. 

Hartley. That is what Bangs said. 

Hitt. The rich men wanted protection, so they bought 
up the government. 

Hartley. How ? 

Hitt. You gave a hundred thousand, didn't you? 

Hartley. Yes, but how did that buy the government? 

Hitt. It helped elect the men who would make laws to 
suit you. 

Hartley. But that was good for the people. 

Hitt. Good for some people. Good for you, but not good 
for those who are taxed to make you rich. 

Hartley. But that does not explain the politicians. 

Hitt. That is very simple. They saw that by organizing 
they could control the government, take the money from the 
rich men, and so get rich themselves. Now that is just what 
they have been doing. They lie awake nights trying to find 
some new method of taxing those who have money. Those 
who have the most money have to pay into the campaign 
fund to elect the men who shall legislate the money out of 
those who have some money, but are not rich enough to 
rebel. In short, these same politicians have grown insolent 
with power, and no longer satisfied with squeezing the poor, 
they are now preparing to squeeze the rich. If I am not 
mistaken there is just where you are placed. They have 
cajolled Renshaw on until they have got him where they 
want him. and they mean to make you pay. 

Hartley. (In great wrath.) But they never will, I will 
die first, I will never submit to such robbery. 

Hitt. Well, I am awfully sorry for j^ou. and if you are 
in the hands of our present politicians you are to be pitied. 
Perhaps I can do something, I will try. At any rate I can 
make a few inquiries. (Enter Renshaw in great haste.) 

Ren^ha\<\ What in hell have you been saying? 



Hartley. (Astounded.) Saying? saying to whom? 

Renshaw. Saying to Bangs? 

Hartley. (Surprised.) Saying to Bangs I told him 

what I thought of him, I told him he couldn't come 

here and bribe me. 

Renshaw. Well of all the 

Hartley. What is the matter? (Renshaw tears around 
the stage.) You seem excited. 

Renshaw. (In despair.) I am. What an awful mess 
you have made of it ! 

Hartley. Mess! (Hitt and Hartley start.) 

Renshaw. Yes, mess. Do you know what those devils 
have done? They have fined your firm two million dollars. 

Hartley and Hitt. Two million dollars! 

Renshaw. Yes, two million dollars, that is what it has 
cost you, Hartley. I thought you understood when you sent 
for Bangs. 

Hartley. Understood when I sent for Bangs! You sent 
for him, I didn't want to see the beast. 

Renshaw. I told you it would be a good plan to see him^ 
that is all I did, and you sent for him yourself. 

Hitt. I told you, Hartley, you must be careful with him. 
His wrath is far-reaching. 

Hartley. (Hotly.) But I won't pay it. 

Renshazv. (Incisively.) But you will have to. 

Hartley. You tell me I have got to pay that ridiculous 
fine. I won't. It is beyond all reason. 

Renshaw. The government will make you. They have 
got all the facts, or what they are pleased to call the facts, 
and I don't see how you can help yourself. Bangs could 
have straightened you out, but as it now stands there is no 
help for you. (Hartley stops stupified.) I tell you, Hartley, 
business isn't run as it used to be. 

Hartley. Do you tell me that the government can discover 
a wrongdoing, make up a cock and bull story, and come down 
on me for two millions dollars, sending Bangs here to get a 
bribe first, and punish me 

Renshaw. Who said the government sent Bangs here? 

Hartley. 'Well, he came and wanted a bribe. 

Renshaw. Did he ask for a bribe? 

80 



Hartley. Well no, not exactly, but he didn't leave the 
matter in doubt. 

Renshaw. Look here, Hartley, you are dealing with men 
who make it their business to understand the law. They 
make the law, and it is the law that tells, it isn't what is 
right or what is wrong. In the old days we used to think 
law was right. We know better now. These men make laws 
to make money out of unsuspecting people, then if those 
people try to escape what is a manifest steal they call them 
criminals. It doesn't matter whether it is right or wrong, 
the mass of people believe a criminal to be a man who evades 
the law. The government does not stop to enquire if you 
are .right or wrong, it just puts on the law when it suits 
their convenience. 

Hartley. Well, then, if they send a man here and he asks 
me for a bribe, what becomes of the law? 

Renshaw. The law, my friend, is so framed that it can 
be used or not used. It is just as they wish it. You are 
nothing. 

Hitt. Executive clemency, I believe, is the word. If I come 
home from Europe I have all my things dumped out on 
the dock, because we are a free country. In benighted 
countries where every man is not an independent sovereign, 
they take his word he isn't a thief. Being free, I suppose an 
astute government considers us all scoundrels, judging by 
themselves. One man out of a half-million tries to smuggle 
in a ten thousand dollar necklace, and five hundred thousand 
people have to be treated like criminals, violating the very 
first principle of our law, that a man is innocent until he is 
proved guilty. It is just as sensible as to search every house 
on Fifth Avenue because a man had his pocket picked in 
the Bowery. 

Hartley. It is monstrous, and I will fight until my last 
breath. 

Hitt. So say we all of us. But after we have said it we 
sneak out of the back door and go and see Bangs. He can 

be a very good friend I know. But, like all friends, he 

reminds you of it in time. 

Hartley. (Shocked.) Oh! Stuy! 

Hitt. My dear fellow, you simply can't wallow in art 

81 



and study pig sties. Nor can you wallow in pig sties and 
really understand art. You must remember each part of 
the body has its function. You wouldn't ask your brain to 
digest your food. Think what a frightful indigestion you 
would have. 

Hartley. Stuy, what is this country coming to? 

Hitt. Perhaps a monarchy and decency. 

Hartley. 1 sincerely hope not. Nothing I know of Europe 
ever wants me to see my country ground down as they 
are in Europe. I tell you, Stuy, we must keep our inde- 
pendence, and I mean to fight for mine. 

Hitt. You do, old boy? Well, you will have to fight, 
that is all I can tell you. You don't know what you are 
fighting. You are fighting the wdiole American people. If 
they didn't want these scoundrels they wouldn't have them. 
They all do as I do. They talk a lot in public, and go and 
see Bangs in private. They want something done. 

Hartley. I can't believe it. 

Hitt. Oh! you can't, well, I will tell you just this, my 
friend. When it comes to politics it's champagne with us 
in our class. Look at your friend of the one hundred 
thousand dollar campaign contribution. Didn't he give a 
dinner v^here the champagne flowed like water? Doesn't the 
champagne always flow like water where he is? Champagne 

costs money. You pay for it perhaps a railway's stock 

holders pay for it against their will. 

Hartley. There, Stuy, 1 won't hear any more. 

Hitt. No, of course not, when things get a little thick 
in our set we decline to hear any more. But I tell you I am 

right. It is first champagne, then real pain, and then 

campaign. 

Renshazv. (Laughing.) I guess he is about right. 

Hitt. Yes, and with the lower classes, as we are graciously 
disposed to call them, it is first beer, ask Bangs, he knows, 

then queer and then cheer. After that anything 

any designing villain may ask for. (Renshaw laughs.) 
* Renshaw. That's just about it, Mr. Hartley. 

Hartley. It's a fine state of things we have come to 

(Enter Butler.) 



82 



Butler. Two men who wish to see you, sir. 

Hartley. Who are they? 

Butler. They did not give their names, they said Mr. 
Renshaw had sent them. 

Renshaw. Oh ! yes, show them in. They are the men 
from the custom house, you said you wanted to see them 
yourself. (Hartley nods and the Butler goes out.) It is 
perhaps just as well that you had a talk with them yourself. 
They know all the ropes, and perhaps they will put things 
to you in a light that will make you understand matters 
better. Meanwhile, if you will excuse me, I will be going. 

/-////. I too. I am not up to lecturing to professional 
politicians. Don't be too virtuous. Hartley, this isn't a time 
for virtue any more than election time. (Exeunt. Enter 
the two oMcers.) 

Hartley. How do you do? (A little sti-ffiy. The men 
stand waiting. Hartley looks at them a moment then 
motions them to a seat. He walks around for a moment 
as tJiotigh trying to collect his ideas.) I sent for you 
(Pausing) because 1 have heard some very extraordinary 
reports about the way my business has been run, and have 
also been very much surprised at the way the custom officials 
have acted. (Pause.) Now I want to go right to the bottom 
of this, and I have sent for you in hopes that you might 
help me in this matter. 

Starky. We are willing to do all we can, Mr. Hartley. 
We have been pretty hard hit, and we don't think we are 
altogether to blame. 

Hartley. As I understand it, you were appraisers, and 
the government claims you undervalued my goods and re- 
ceived a bribe for doing so. 

Po'lon. They do not speak of bribes, sir, in the custom 
house. 

llartlcy. Don't speak of bribes, v/ell then what do 

they speak of? 

Polion. Some calls it remuneration, and some calls it 
reward, and when it gets to the fellers higher up we call 
it contribution, but we never speak of bribes, sir, it isn't 
perlite. 

Hartley. Oh! all through this matter I have had to 



struggle against that word bribe. Well, we will try to under- 
stand each other. You took money 

Pollon. No, sir, we ain't took no money. 

Hartley. Haven't taken any money Well, please be 

so kind as to explain, then, what is the trouble, and what 
this is all about. 

Pollon. Well, (With a little laugh) we know what it is all 
about, sir, but we don't like to say. 

Hartley. You can speak plainly to me. I promise you I 
vail not use anything against you. 

Pollon. Well, Mr. Renshaw alius used us good, an' 
(Looking at Starky^ I suppose yer will. (Laughing slily. 
Stark Y looks very downcast.) 

Hartley. I certainly shall do what is right. No man in 
my-jemploy can say I have not treated him fairly. 

Pollon. So I've understood, Mr. Hartley, an' me an' Starky 
came here with the idea that perhaps yer could do some- 
thin' for us. We don't ask much, but we wanter a little help, 
an' you can giv' it us, I am reckonin' ! 

Hartley. (Sitting down.) Well, state your case. But wait, 
you fellows look a little down in the mouth, and I do not 

like you to seem so depressed. Won't you have something 

a little 

Pollon. Thank you, sir, I don't mind taking a little 

Hartley. (With his hand on the hell.) A little whiskey 

and soda? 

Pollon. That suits me all right, how about you, Starky? 

Starky. (Sullenly.) I do not wish any whiskey. I will 
take a little water. (Hartley rings the bell and the Butler 
appears.) 

Hartley. Whiskey and soda. 

Butler. Very well, sir. (Exit. A silence in which Butler 
returns with the whiskey and soda. He then goes out.) 

Hartley. Please begin. 

Pollon. (Looking at Starky. then hesitating.) You see, 
^Mr. Hartley, as I understand it, you are not much up to 
business. 

Hartley. Yes, what is that? 

Pollon. I understand that yer've not paid very much at- 
tention ter business, and 

84 



Hartley. Yes, just like a new-born babe. I have heard 
a great deal about that lately. 

Pollon. (Surprised.) Yer have, well I wouldn't put it 

just that way. I er would say that yer've been 

rather shielded from the stress and burden of the fight. 

Hartley. I like that way of putting it. I prefer to think 
so, but just at present it looks as though I should have to 
face the fight whether I want to or no. What I wish to 
know now is, what is underneath all this matter any way? 
It looks to me like plain bribery, but on every hand I hear 
it should not be called that, and I may have been away from 
my native land so long I have forgotten the language. 

Pollon. That's jest about it, Mr. Hartley. Yer've been 
away a good while, I understan', an' yer've not kept account 

of yer affairs I mean closely. Not but what yer've had 

good men ter look after them, ^^ery good men indeed, but 
there is a system of doin' business that I guess yer don't 
understan'. 

Hartley. (Drily.) So it seems, but now, my good fellow, 
( Starky shivers) tell me just how you look upon your own 
part of this matter. 

Pollon. Waal, to tell you the truth, I look upon this matter 
just as a piece of legitimate business, nothin' more nor 
nothin' less. 

Hartley. (Patiently.) Please state just how this seems to 
be business, and how you found yourself in this unfortunate 
position, you were arrested, I believe 

Pollon. Yaas, I believe we were Bangs said that 

didn't amount ter anythin'. I can't say myself ef I quite 
liked it. Starky here took it rather tough like, an' I can't 
say my wife altergether liked it. She said some purty hard 
things, I remember, an' what the neighbors would say, but 
Bangs 

Hartley. Bangs ? 

Pollon. (Surprised.) Yes, Bangs, he's runnin' the matter, 
yer know, he was very cheerful that everything 'd come out 
all right, an' not ter worry. Bangs went our bail, an' then, 
so far as I know, everythin' was left for yer to come home. 
(Hartley gives the men a long look and thinks.) Then yer 
came home an' somethin' happened. I don't know quite just 

85 



what it was. There seemed to be some trouble, an' down at 
the club I heard a lot of swearin'. 

Hartley. You did? (Thoughtfully.) 

Pollon. Yes, you see, I belong to a club, a lot of us 
fellows belong. Bangs is the president, an' he generally tells 

us what ter do an' as Bangs is a good fellow, we trust 

ter him we alius come out right, so we never bother 

very much. 

Hartley. Oh ! I see a little. Yet I don't quite see either. 
Perhaps, Mr. Starky, you can tell us a little something to 
make this matter clear. Your friend seems to depend on 
Mr. Bangs for support in this trouble. 

Starky. (Who has all through the talk shown signs of 
uneasiness, now lifts his head.) I don't mind telling you, 
Mr. Hartley, I do not like this business at all. I am a 
decent man, I trust, and how I ever got into this mess I 
do not understand. I only know I wish I was well out of 
it. I came to j'ou, Mr. Hartley, hoping you could help me. 
I know you are an honest man, and a good man. Your 
record has been all right, it is not like most of our million- 
aires, who got their money by oppressing the poor, or by 
underhanded dealings with railways, or by driving other firms 
out of business by sneaking methods. I tell you frankly, I 
have always had a great deal of respect for you, for I knew 
that you meant to be just what you seemed 

Hartley. (With interest.) And that was what? 

Starky. A high-minded gentleman. 

Hartley. And now? 

Starky. They are trying to make you out just like the 
rest of them, those gilded thieves who oppress the poor, rob 
the well-to-do, and cringe to their superiors. I truly believe 
this is a plot to rob you of your good name, or to relieve 
you of a large part of your money. 

Hartley. That is what it seems to me. Perhaps you can 
explain a little how this plot is to be worked. 

Pollon. Oh ! pshaw, Starky, yer got bugs in yer head. 

* Starky. No 1 haven't, Pollon, I have suffered, and I don't 

like being under arrest. I don't care how the matter comes 

out, I am an American, and I claim an American has rights, 

I don't care who tries to make me believe to the contrary, 

86 



be he Scotchman, Irishman, or anotlier American. Yes, Mr. 
Hartley, have patience with me, and I will tell you how I 
feel. My father was a manufacturer up in the country fifty 
years ago, and he was considered the richest man around, 
beloved and respected by all who knew him. There were no 
people who could show a better record than ours, then came 
a change, competition grev/ strong, his business seemed to 
fade av/ay, it was owing, we thought, to honest competition; 
we knew better later. It was owing to unfair discrimination. 
Politicians began to get hold of the government, and those 
who were honest believed in their country, and trusted and 
prayed for better times. Better times did not seem to come. 
The business at last failed, crushed out by rivals who com- 
bined illegally, we know that now, allied to politicians who 
sold everything they had to sell, a good deal they didn't 
have. I had married, 1 was poor, and of course had married. 
My prospects v.-ere bright when I married, and I thought I 
could go on just as my father had, and bring up my family. 
But no. being an American I was of no account, I wasn't 
supposed to understand politics, I was called a know nothing, 
one who hadn't advanced, didn't understand the real interests 
of the country, I didn't know what made us rich, I was 
told to stand aside, and at last, to keep my family from 
starving, I was given a position in the custom house by the 
local boss of the town where I lived. Well, Mr. Hartley, I 
have been the slave of the boss ever since. He is a man 
so notorious that you could name him now if I asked in 
three guesses for you to do it. 

Hartley. But surely you could have got some other em- 
ployment. 

Starky. Have you ever tried, Mr. Hartley? (Silence.) 
Hartley. (Thoughtfully.) No. 1 never tried. But please 
continue. 

Starky. Weil, I have had to keep to that job ever since. 
I have never dared to murmur, for every time I did I was 
rudely told there were lots of men who were waiting for 
my job, and I knew it. I was never allowed to talk about 
American liberty, I was only sneered at, and my companions 
thought I was queer. Well, after a time, Mr. Hartley, one 
gives up thinking about liberty. I was told how to vote, 

87 



and I voted. I heard of large sums of money being given 
for voters, I never got any, and I did not want any. But 
it seems to me there is altogether too much money for the 
politicians, and too little for the American people. 

PoUon. Oh! pshaw, Starky, you are down on the poli- 
ticians, just because you are in this trouble, they are your 
best friends. 

Starky. I can't see, Mr. Hartley, how they are my best 
friends when it has been through them that I am brought 
to this. 

Hartley. Please explain more clearly how this has been 
brought about. 

Starky. You see, Mr. Hartley, it all seemed fair at first. 
There is no man who loves his country more than I do, 
and it rouses everything in me, an American of an old and 
respectable family, to be told by a man who comes over 
from Europe I am not as good a patriot as he. I find there 
is very little patriotism, it is only just pretence, just waving 
the bloody shirt every time they get up against facts. And, 
Mr. Hartley, this waving the bloody shirt by foreigners, 
whose fathers were digging in foreign soil when the shirt 
was getting blood on it, makes me tired. I have no objec- 
tion to having the shirt waved, but I want it waved by some- 
one who wore it I don't want it borrowed. 

' Hartley. The men who really wore that shirt have now 
mostly gone to the grave. 

Starky. Yes, and those men who have never lifted their 
finger for their country, and do nothing but parade and 
talk, are not our real old soldiers, as you say, they are mostly 
dead, or too modest and decent to brag of their achieve- 
ments. My father was in the war, and he would never take 
a pension, for he said what is the use of being a patriot if 
you have to be paid for it. The Hessians, during the 
Revolution, never got up a society to keep their children 
and widows in affluence. The English allow a patriot to 
be one if he wants to be, they certainly never pensioned the 
Hessians. But now it is all stand by your party, right or 
wrong, stand by your party. But your party won't stand by 
you. You see when this trouble first began my wife was 
sick. Somehow Bangs heard about it He hears about 



everything, keeps his eye on everybody's affairs, and then, 
when the right time comes, makes a suggestion or two in a 
very nice way. You can't help feehng a little grateful, for 
you don't know what it is to lead up to. Well, my wife 
was sick, her youngest child was also ailing, had something 
the matter that required a specialist, in fact I had several 
specialists. I was deep in debt, you don't know, Mr. Hartley, 
what it is to be deep in debt, and my debtors were pressing 
me, when one day Bangs said why didn't I try your man, 
Renshaw. He said Renshaw was a good fellow, had a lot 
of money, and would be easy. So I asked him one day if 
he would favor me for a little while, it was absolutely neces- 
sary to have the money, for those damned excuse me, 

Mr. Hartley specialists won't bother without their money 

down, that is from such as I. I tided that time over. Just 
about then I was transferred to another job with a little 

better pay. That seemed all right, and I had great hopes 

that it would all come out right but, Mr. Hartley, I soon 

saw my little one was failing and my poor wife she 

was very brave but she had been quite ill before this 

operation, and, well Mr. Hartley , well 

when the little one died, it was more than she could bear. 

Of course you know how it is, a mother will always 

love the weakest most and she had given all her strength 

in having the baby and then her mother's heart went out 

to it and, Mr. Hartley. I and my wife had been very 

happy together so when she gave out something 

must be done I simply couldn't see her go I couldn't, 

Mr. Hartley, perhaps you have no children 

Hartley. (Moved.) I have one. 

Starky. Then you know, sir, how I was placed, with no 

money, and the child gone and the mother life 

had seemed so bright when we married. Well, I went to 
Renshaw again and stated the case to him. 

Hartley. And he helped you? 

Starky. Yes, he was very kind and generous, but 

Hartley. Why but, you need never pay the money back, 
I will see to that 

Starky. That isn't it, sir, thank you just the same. But 
I will go on. Just then there came a matter of invoices. I 



knew they were not right, but 1 got a hint that if I minded 
my own business it wouldn't hurt me any. Well, I tried to 
mind it, but 1 saw more and more invoices pass through 
my hands and I said nothing, 1 just did the regidar business 

and kept my eyes shut. Meanwhile my wife and this 

came just when 1 felt 1 could pay up some of my debts 

had to go South to save her life, it was that, or I can't 

say it perhaps you know how I felt. The poor woman 

put her arms around my neck and we she 

said she coiddn't leave me just yet not all alone with the 

children so. Mr. Hartley I went to Renshaw again. And. 

well. Mr. Hartley, it went from bad to worse from bad 

tj worse, until I became frantic. 1 sent my wife South and 
she got better, but she has to have the best of care, and 

she must have a better climate for the winter months 

but. Mr. Hartley. I have never told her what I have done 

it would kill her. and she seems so happy to be left here with 

me she says she fears she is little comfort but she 

tries and. Mr. Hartley, it does soothe my conscience a 

little when I go home and see her smiling and happy, smiling 
through pain and suffering, doing her duty as a wife and a 

mother and this is what hurts. Mr. Hartley may 

you never know it she does not know that her hus- 
band is a criminal. 

Hartley. ( Starting. ) Xo. not that. 

Starky. Unless something is done 1 will be. for 1 do not 
trust that man Bangs 

Polloii. Oh ! brace up, Starky, you are too chicken- 
livered. I tell you Bangs is all right. He never went back 
on a friend, he'd never be where he is today if he had. 

Starky. I am not so sure, besides, he may not think I am 
a friend. 

Hartley. (Solemuly.) Then you two men have been 
doing that for me? 

Starky. Yes. Mr. Hartley, that is what has been going 
on now for some time, and it has got to be a habit. You 
set, can't you see how I was tempted, and I know it was 
wrong but 

Hartley. Yes, I see. I see too well. You have been 
taking bribes. 

90 



Polloii. We hain't had any bribes, }»lr. Hartley, there is 
where you are wrong, we have only borrowed money, there 
has been no bribery with me. 

Hartley. I think it would look like it in a court of law. 

Starky. I spoke to Bangs about that, and he said, "Court 
of law, what is a court of law. A court of law is presided 
over by a judge who has to be elected with my permission, 
and the sentence has to be passed by a jury who are bound 
to see things. as I see them. Don't worry about a court of 
law." Then I tried to put it out of my mind, so when we 
were arrested I protested, and he said it was necessar>' to 
teach a few people their duty to their country, and he 
muttered that if a man wasn't a patriot he had to be made 
one. He said there weren't going to be much longer a lot 
of damned Americans wasting their money in Europe when 
it was so much needed at home. Very sorry that I had had 
any trouble, but it would come out all right. He's kept it 
out of the paper, so my wife's not heard of it, and I hope 
she won't. But, Mr. Hartley, I was an honest man. and I 
don't just see how I could help it. (Enter Tolm.^n.) 

Tolmau. Mr. Bangs to see you, sir. 

Pollon. Bangs here, come, Stark}-, we must get out. He 
mustn't see us. 

Hartley. (To Tolm.\x.) Show them out this way. (They 
go out wit'i ToLMAN.) To come to this. Heavens, what 

does ail Renshaw. And yet (Tolmax enters, crosses 

the stage, and shows in Baxgs. He then goes out, while the 
two eye each other.) 

Hartley. I thought I was not to have the pleasure of 
another visit from you. I thought I was to have the pleasure 
of coming to see you and partake of your hospi- 
tality Black and White I think you said. 

Bangs. (Easily, calmly taking a chair and looking around 
for the cigars. Hartley pushes them towards him with a 
sneer. Bangs helps himself, lights it, and then looks up at 
Hartley with a grin. Silence. Hartley stands stupefied, 
and then takes the whiskey and gives him a glass. Bangs 
calmly pours out a generous drink and swallows it.) Kinder 
thought you might like to see me. You certainly are hos- 
pitterble. 

91 



Hartley. (Sarcastically.) I am delighted. (Glaring at 
hii)i, which Bangs ignores.) 

Bangs. Kinder thought perhaps you might be feelin' like 
seein' me this mornin'. (Pause.) You didn't think the other 
day that anythin' was likely tcr happen. Kinder supposed a 
fatherly government couldn't get up the grit ter spank one 
of its grown-up children. (Takes some more whiskey, while 
Hartley continues his satirical glar,\! Pretty bad spanking, 
huh ? (Pause.) Yer didn't wanter huh ! it's out. (Look- 
ing at his cigar.) Yer didn't wanter say anything huh 

say anything about that two million dollar matter, did yer? 
(Hartley only glares.) It was pretty bad. But I knew what 
was comin'. I can't say that I was treated any too friendly 
like fer jes givin' a little warnin'. Some people don't ap- 
preciate their blessin's. (Looking around for his cigar, which 
he had laid aside.) 

Hartley. And some people do. (Snapped Hartley, hand- 
ing the box. He takes one coolly, and after a while puts 
it into his pocket.) 

Bangs. Waal, I can't say but what I do. I was brought 
up to look on the cheerful side of things. I have always 
tried to help people out of trouble, not to put them in. But 
I tell yer, ingratitude is the meanest, low-down, cussedest 
thing this country has gotter contend with. It's all get 
somethin' for yerself, never thinkin' about others. Make 
millions, an' then spend a little bit on charity, an* think ye're 
generous. Now I don't believe in socialism, but I do believe 
in some kind of equal distribution of God's gracious gifts. 
(With unction.) An' I am workin' for that end day an' 
night. I'm awfully sorry the government had ter put that 

fine on yer awfully sorry. It could hev been prevented. 

But yer can't do good every time. One must hev patience 

an' I've got patience. 

Hartley. (Bursting forth.) I want to know why you 
come here and treat me like a thief, insult me in my own 

house, act as though it was yours (Pausing for breath) 

tell* a free-born American citizen that he is to be ruled by a 
lot of scoundrelly foreigners 

Bangs. (Calmly.) I calculate that I am just as much an 
American as you arc, with all your grand ideas about birth. 

92 



We were all emigrants ter begin with, an' so fur as I can 
see it is only a question of money that makes any difference 
between us. Yer think because my dad came over when 1 
was a baby I can't be a good American. But I am, I am a 
real patriot. Why, man, I fit in the Cuban war and saved 

that poor country from the hand of the oppressor I am 

proud that I stood up fer what was right, an' if I did 
suffer fer my country it isn't fer yer to tell me I'm no 
patriot. What scars hev yer got, I'd like ter know, ter show 
for your dear old country." My country's been a mother ter 
me and I am no ungrateful hound to go back on my own 
mother, no sir. 

Hartley. (Severely.) And what did you suffer the loss 
of, pray? 

Bangs. Those two fingers yes, sir, given an' given 

gladly fer my country. I say my country, right or wrong, 
my country. 

Hartley. And your grateful country gives you a pension? 

Bangs. I am proud ter say she does. There ain't no base, 
mean ingratitude in this government, and I am proud of it. 
When I was unable ter work I determined to work fer my 
country. And so I did. God gave me the chance of goin' 
inter politics and helping to form the counsels of the nation. 

Hartley. You miserable, old, canting, snivelling hypocrite! 

Bangs. Huh ! Yer use pretty strong language. Hartley, 

ye're a little cantankerous yet but we will see to that 

in time. 

Hartley. I'll see to it in time. I want you to understand 
that I will go to the President of the United States 

Bangs. Lord bless you, Hartley, the President of the 
United States hasn't any time ter be foolin' with yer affairs. 
He has a great and high mission, and he has sworn to obey 

the law and he has sworn to put the law inter force, 

an' that's jes what's been done when yer house was taxed 
two million dollars. No, sir, yer don't run a big hotel and 
go down inter the kitchen to see if the cook puts salt or 
pepper in the soup. If it tastes all right yer don't say 
nothin'. Yer don't monkey with the cook in these days, haw, 
haw. 

Hartley. I gave one hundred thousand dollars to help 
elect him 



Bangs. Yes. I know all about that. I asked Renshaw for 

the raone} an' I told him at the time it wasn't enough. 

Can't expect a big machine ter run well without plenty of 
grease, plenty of grease, huh I 

Hartley. That money was used in a perfectly honest v.ay to 
elect an honest man 

Bizngs. Who said he wasn't honest. I didn'L Of course he 
is honest. I guess I oughter know. Do you know who spent 

that money well. I did. every cent of it. I put it where 

it'd do the most good, and it did good. -\nd I tell yer money 
has gotter be used in these ere elections to couA-ince people 

of what is fer their own good fer their own good. It 

wouldn't be half the trouble ter run a government if there 
wasn't a lot of damn kickers. 

Hartley. (Thoroughly exasf'erated.) You used that money 
to bribe innocent men. You used my money to bring men 
down to place where they are no longer men. but slaves. 
You take money which does not belong to you. or which 
should not even come into your hands, to make a free man 
not only a slave, but a miserable, unhappy coward. I know. 
I have just had those custom house appraisers here, and they 
told me what you had done. 

Bangs. (Scou'ling.) Yer mean Pollon an' Starky? 

Hartley. Yes. 1 mean Pollon and Stark>-. Starkj- told 
how^ you made use of his necessities, his dying child, his 
sickly wife, to debauch a free American citizen, a man bom 
free under a free sky. and in a free land. You enslaved 
him by his necessities, by his love for his wife, by every art 
known to a sneaking villain, and then talk about your love 
for the fatherland. I tell you f'His wrath increasing) there 
is still the spirit of freedom in our midst, and I at least will 
not be a slave. My parents gave me one gift, the gift of 
equality with my fellow men. and I shall fight for my rights. 
(Baxgs makes a motion to speak, but H.\rtley waves him 
to silence.) I shall fight to the verj- last cent I possess, and 
I shall learn if we have a government of men. men who are 
honest and upright, who can be controlled and dictated to 
by such as 3-ou. I shall find out if our homes can be invaded 
under the guise of law. our liberty- violated, and our pros- 
perity threatened by men who organize under government 

94 



by which their ver\- possessions 
can be taken away. Yes, I am still proud of my country, 
my native land, land of the pilgrims' pride, land where my 
fathers died, sweet land of liberty. 

Baugs. (Calmly.) You really mean it? 

Hartley. I mean every- word I have said I have already 
unearthed enough to send you to state prison, and I shall do 
it. A little money will not stand in my way when it is a 
question of principle, a question of right. Our ver>- homes 
are crying out for protection in this day of %-ice and wrong- 
doing, and I am willing to lead the van and I shall. It 

will be some satisfaction to uncover the corruption which 
you represent, and to make known to honest people the 
dangers which threaten them. 

Bangs. ^Slowly taking another cigar. j You really intend 
to do this? 

Hartley. I do. 

Bangs. Then I had better be going. (Quietly takes up his 
hai and bcnving gravely goes out.) 

Hartley. (Pausing out of breath and in anger.) The 
awful wretch. (Pause. Enter Rensh.^w in great haste and 
affright.) 

Renshaw. Hartley what have you been doing ? 

Hartley. (Grandly.) I have been gi%'ing the greatest rascal 
on earth just what he desenes. I have told him I \^t11 fight 
him to the ver\- last. 

Renshaw. You did. Oh ! idiot, idiot I 

Hartley. (Amaced.) What do you mean? 

Renshaw. Bangs just told me the warrant for your arrest 
has just been issued. 

Hartley. For my arrest arrest I Great God, what does 

it mean? 

Renshaw. Just what I said, your arrest. ( H.artley 
collapses.) 

Curtain. 



ACT IV. 

Scene. — Bangs' outer office. Time. — Next morning. Enter 
PoLLON and Starky, escorted by Officer. 

Starky. Pollon, I don't like it. 

Pollon. Oh ! cheer up, man, Bangs will get us out all 
right. 

Starky. But it will get into the papers. 

Pollon. No it won't. Bangs '11 see ter that. It's all right. 

Starky. I don't see why he had to surrender his bail. 
We could have got other bail if he had only given us a 
chance. I don't know what I shall do if my wife hears 
about it it will kill her. 

Pollon. No it won't, women are tough, I tell yer. My wife 
has had a lot of things to bear an' she's come out all right. 

Starky. (Sadly.) It is different with your wife she 

isn't sick and nervous and perhaps she doesn't think 

Pollon. (Roughly.) Think what? 

Starky. Think as much of you as my wife does of me, 

Pollon. Oh! go along. My wife is no fool, she sees things 
as they are. She hasn't any high-flown ideas about morality, 
but she's been a good wife all the same. She knows you 
can't get on, and go ter church and do as the minister says 
in these times. One has gotter live, an' she knows it. It 
tain't no worse than those rich duffers who make their 
millions waterin' stock an' bribin' people ter get elections. 
They get all the plums and we do the dirty work, an' then 
they say we are so bad, and go an' pray somewhere, an' 
give the minister a lot of money or a new church. It's alius 
pray, an' prey with them. I think sometimes they get mixed 
on their spellin', I do. 

Starky. Oh! Pollon, I really don't know what my wife 
will think. She will know I been locked up. I know it can't 

be kept from her, and I have tried so hard so hard. 

I tell you, Pollon, you don't know don't know 

OMcer. I guess Pollon's about right. But cheer up, Starky, 

97 



it may come out all right. I've known Bangs a long time. 
I never knew him ter go back on a friend. Besides, there 
is too much up fer yer fellers ter be locked up. You can 
tell some pretty tales perhaps 

Starky. That is just the trouble, we can tell the tales, 
but who will believe them ? The Daily Sensation will pub- 
lish them and all decent people will say that is the way 
the Sensation always does. The other papers will say it is 
very well for us to tell that story now, why didn't we speak 
before, before we were in a fix, if we are honest and trust- 
worthy. No, they will say Mr. Bangs enjoys a rather 
peculiar reputation, perhaps, but in the long run he has 
always earned the name of being honest, and there must 
be something in it, or all his friends wouldn't call him that. 
They will never stop to think that he is the one to talk 
most, about it. it is all talk that goes. You tell the 
American people a thing and they always believe it. The 
rottenest kind of patent medicine will always sell if there 
is enough advertising. I tell 3'^ou 1 don't like it. and I am 
afraid of Bangs. (Enter Bangs.) 

Bangs. So yer've come snivelin' around here, hev yer? 
Nice time ter come, I should think. (Pollon rises with a 
grin and Starky gets up anxiously.) Couldn't trust honest 
old John Bangs, an' this is the bloomin' result. Hope yer 
feel proud of yerself. 

Pollon. (Hesitating.) I don't know just what this means, 

Mr. Bangs, but I've alius trusted yer. an' I am willin' 

tei do so now. 

Bangs. Means, you hound, it means that you and that 

sniveling sneak are goin' ter prison that's what it means. 

{They start and gasp.) It means I'm tired of havin' patience. 
It means if yer've got a fatherly government yer've gotter 
trust it. Yer can't go sneakin' around tellin' a lot of things 
yer don't know and come here an' expect me ter stan' up 
fer yer. Yer've ter learn your lesson. 

Starky. Oh ! Mr. Bangs 

Bangs. Don't Mr. Bangs me. I am just Honest John 
Bangs, that's my name, an' if yer call me an3^thin' call me 
Bangs. But yer won't hev the chance of callin' me much 
hereafter. The government hes gotter hev an example, an' 
yer an' Pollon are as good as any. 

98 



Starky. Oh! Mr. Bangs, my wife my poor wife. 

Bangs. Well, she ain't my wife. I can't go weeping 
aroun' for all the sick wives goin'. Guess I'd hev enough 
ter do. All I can do is ter snivel over my own wife, let 
alone yours. I say yer've gotter go. 

Starky. (Horrified.) But you promised 

Bangs. I never promised. I never do. It's a great mis- 
take. I merely said it would be all right. So it will. Yer 
an' Pollon has gotter go ter prison ter show the American 
people how ter be honest. Yer've gotter suffer for the good 

of the many that's yer doctrine, isn't it? Yer go ter 

church. That's what the minister's alius tellin' yer not 

that he suffers much, unless his pay's held up. 

Starky. But my wife, my poor wife, why should she suffer 
for the American people? She doesn't need an example. 

Pollon. (Getting sulky.) But yer've gone back on us. 
Mr. Bangs, an' I fer one won't stan' fer it. 

Bangs. Stand for it, you beast, yer've gotter stand fer it. 
What can yer do, I'd like ter know? I suppose yer think 
yer can tell things. Well what can yer tell? Yer never 
knew me ter do anythin* against the law. I never hev, and 
I never will. Just because I've overlooked things yer think 
I am a criminal like yer. But I'm not. I am no member 
of the government. They can't bring me up fer neglect of 
duty. I hain't got any duty. There's where 1 am safe. It 
isn't my fault if the men in power don't do their duty. 
I'm not a house of correction, nor a nursery governess. 
They can't touch me, an' they know it. Yer can talk just 
what yer like, things go as I say, an' no man can be sent 
ter states prison just because he's a little merciful once in 
a while. No judge has ter try cases until they are brought 
before him ; when they are he has gotter do his duty. Now 
yer case has got so far it's gotter be brought before the 
courts, an' the courts hev gotter do their duty, if they don't 
I will make them. I select them an' they do as I say, but 
Honest John Bangs is the last man in the world ter want a 
judge to be dishonest. Why, man, our whole great country 
is based on the integrity of the bench, and the high-minded 
men I put on it. No, your time fer indulgence is passed. 
Yer should hev taken that into consideration before. Here, 

99 



officer, take those men away, yer should never hev brought 
them here, it's against the law. 

OMcer. But they asked me so hard, sir, I felt sorry 

Bangs. Sorry, who asked you ter be sorry when the course 
of justice is taking place. I will see ter yer later, if yer 
don't look out. 

OfUcer. I beg your pardon, sir, I am very sorry 

Starky. Oh! Mr. Bangs, can't you just remember my 
wife (Enter Hitt) my poor wife? 

Hitt (Severely.) What is all this? 

Bangs. (With his most affable smile.) I am so sorry, 
Mr. Hitt, but these men have been transgressing the law, 
and they must suffer the penalty. It's too bad you happened 
in just at this time. I am very sorry, but what can I do? 

Hitt. (Severely.) Everything. You can at least do me 
a little favor. I think that perhaps you are aware you owe 
me several. 

Bangs. (Embarrassed.) Of course yer know, Mr. Hitt, 
that there is nothing I wouldn't do ter serve a gentleman 
like yer, but I really can't turn aside the course of law. 

These men have been very unwise very indiscreet 

like, an' we (Winking at HittJ they hav ter suffer 

the penalty. But come into my office a moment. (Exit 
Bangs. Starky and Pollon look perplexed, and the Officer 
sits down, as though he understood his business. The 
prisoners do likewise. Enter Clarice.). 

Clarice. Oh ! Mr. Hitt, you here. Oh ! Stuy, what shall 
we do, I am almost crazy. (Aside.) What are those men, 
are they prisoners? 

Hitt. Yes, my dear, they are. They are the two men who 
were arrested for passing things in the custom house, the 
men who got your father into trouble. (Pollon overhears 
the last remark.) 

Pollon. No, sir, we didn't get the gentleman inter trouble. 
It wasn't us. 

Hitt. Who was it, then? 
' Pollon. It was Crillon, he is the one who peached. 

Starky. Yes, he was the man who went to headquarters 
and told on us, claiming a reward for doing so. It seems 
the government pays informers, and he brags he is going 

100 



to make two hundred thousand by it. We go to prison and 
he goes free, a rich man, just because he turned sneak and 
spy. I don't think it is right. 

Pollon. Yes, an' his wife tole my wife, an' I didn't like 
it either, that her husband was a patriot, an' that he an' 
Bangs were the salvation of the country. 

Starky. My poor wife my poor wife. 

Clarice. Stuy oh ! Stuy, what is this tell me ! 

Hitt. Hush! keep quiet- don't get excited It will 

come out all right. (He tries to sooth her, while she visibly 
grows terrified.) 

Clarice. Tell me, sir (Going up to Starky^ what is this 
about your wife? 

Starky. Only my wife, Miss, is dying of some disease 

my poor wife, and can you help her, please? 

Clarice. (Going to Hitt.j Can I help her, please tell me. 
Is her husband really going to prison, and is he going for 
my father my poor father? 

Hitt. (Agitated.) I don't think so, we will* see. Please 
do try to keep calm, I will see Bangs. (Goes into the inner 
office.) 

Clarice. (Taking a seat near Starky.^ Please tell me all. 

Starky. Are you Miss Hartley? 

Clarice. Yes, i am. 

Starky. Then you will help me. You see I am not so 
very guilty. It was that creature 

Clarice. Bangs ? 

Starky. Yes, Bangs, he got me into it, and now he won't 

help us out. My wife, she hasn't been well, she she 

loves me, and she doesn't know. Now she has got to 

know. I don't see what I am going to do. 

Clarice. And my father too, is threatened with arrest, 
how perfectly awful ! I know my father did not do any- 
thing wrong. 

Starky. I don't think he did. Miss Hartley. I think we 
are all led into this unconsciously. I know I was, and I 
don't see how we are going to get out of it. 

Clarice. Perhaps Mr. Hitt can do something. (Earnestly.) 

Pollon. He hain't got the right kind of influence, Miss. 
He can do some things, but this kind of influence can't be 

101 



got by a gentleman. Bangs is our man, and if he can't be 
brought around then we are goners. 

Clarice. How do you mean? 

Pollon. (Doggedly.) I mean it is a matter of money. 
It's all a matter of money, an' if yer father pays we are 
all right. 

Clarice. You mean if he will pay the bribe you won't 
have to go to prison, that is what you mean? 

Pollon. We don't call it bribing, Miss, we don't bribe 
any more, we call it contributing, we all contribute. Them 
that contributes the most gets the most. Seems kind of 
right like, too. Yer father, it seems, hasn't contributed what 
he ought, and that is why Bangs is mad. He says the 
country has gotter be saved, and he's goin' ter save it if 
every other damn thing, beg yer pardon, Miss, goes ter hell, 
beg yer pardon, Miss. 

Clarice. You mean that if father will only pay what they 
want him to, then all this trouble will be stopped? Oh! is 
that all? 

Starky. I am afraid that is about all. Mr. Bangs is very 
angry^with us because we went to see your father, but what 
could we do? We didn't mean to do any harm. We thought 

perhaps he could help us and when you have a wife and 

a family well, Miss Hartley, you do want to save your 

good name and then, if T go to prison, who is going 

to pay for their support? 

Clarice. (Anxiously.) Oh! don't worry about that, I will 
see they do not suffer. 

Starky. Thank you, Miss Hartley, you are very kind. It 
seems awful to me that you should have to suffer for us, 
and you never would if T had only understood before this 
how matters were going. (Enter Zaidee.) 

Zaidee. Oh! you here, I hoped so, for they told me at 
the house you had come down, and T knew Stuy was 
coming where is he? 

Clarice. He has gone into the inner room. 
/ Zaidee. Oh I then he will do something. 

Clarice. Oh! can he, Zaid, do you think he can? I have 
been talking to these men, and they are under arrest, and 
have got to go to prison, unless something is done. They 

102 



say that it all depends on father's giving more money. T 
don't see why he doesn't do it. 
Zaidee. He thinks it is bribery. 

Clarice. What is bribery if you are going to prison? And 
oh! Zaid. this poor man has a sick wife and he is nearly 
crazy, just think of it? And it all came about because a 
man in the custom house told on the others in order to get 
two hundred thousand dollars, did you ever hear of anythmg 
so dreadful? Why should the government pay a man to 
cause so much trouble, and give him so much money? 

Zaidee. (Turning towards Starky.) T don't understand, 
cc>uld you explain? 

Starky. All I know, there is a law if a man tells of wrong 
doing in the custom house he gets a percentage of all the 
money refunded to the government for amounts due. It 
seems a little queer that our government should deliberately 
train scamps to enter its service, to spy on its employees 
and then make them rich by so doing. It would be caued 
some pretty hard names if done by a busmess man or a 

Pollon. (Indignantly.) Yes, and then this man goes 
around and brags of his success, and when I told him he 
was a mean sneak, he said the government was on his side, 
and what the government did was right. I can believe m 
mv country all right, but I can't understand why one man 
gets rich by doing a mean thing, and another goes to prison. 
He was just as guilty as we were. 

Starky He was more so, Miss, he openly took bribes, he 
took them until Bangs had to tell him to stop. Then he 
turned informer and became pious. 

Zaidee. I never heard anything so awful. I knew the 
government was bad enough in its outrageous treatment of 
travellers, but I did not suppose it kept a school for scoun- 
drels. I don't see what encouragement there is for a man 

to be honest. . • j 4. 

Starky There isn't in these days. Miss. I have tried to 
be honest, but everything has turned against me, and I am 
where I am now. 

Zaidee. Clarice, your father must pay the money. He is 
certainlv in the hands of desperate men. If only for this 

103 



time, he must. We will persuade him. (Enter Hartley.) 
Oh! Mr. Hartley, this is too terrible. 

Hartley. My dear, (Taking her fondly in his arms and 
kissing her.) have you come down here on my account? 

Zaidee. (Drawing him aside.) Yes, of course. How- 
could I stay away? 

Hartley. Zaidee, darling, do you really care something 
for me. Say it. It will help me, oh ! so much. 

Zaidee. (Softly.) I have always cared, couldn't you see 
it? 

Hartley. (Beaming and forgetting for the moment his 
trouble.) You make me so happy. We must tell Clarice. 

Zaidee. Let me do that. Clarice, dear. Clarice, tell your 
father about these men. 

Clarice. (Who has been talking to St ark y, comes for- 
ward.). Oh! papa, these men have got to go to jail, can't 
you help them? (Hartley {urns towards them and per- 
ceives the oiUcer.) 

Hartley. What is this, are you to be sent to jail? 

Starky. (Rising.) Mr. Bangs has surrendered his bail 
and we see no help for it. 

Hartley. But this is outrageous. 1 will go your bail. 
(They look at each other, then Pollon speaks.) 

Pollon. I don't think, sir, the judge would take your bail 
after Bangs surrendered us, he wouldn't dare to. 

Hartley. What, not take my bail! 

Pollon. You see you too are mixed up with the business, 
and it would look like conspiracy. No, sir. Bangs is furious 
because we came ter see yer, and he's goin' ter make it hot 
fer us. 

Hartley. The wretch ! But I won't have it. it is too much. 

Pollon. (Slily.) I think yer'd better pay, Mr. Hartley, 
that'd get us all out of trouble. 

Hartley. (Distressed.) Pay it's pay, always pay 

Pollon. I guess it is, when yer deal with politics. I've 
been in 'em all my life an' I've never seen anything else. 

Clarice. Oh! papa, if it is just something to pay do pay 
and' let us be free from this awful nightmare. I can't stand 
it, I can't. 

Hartley. But my honor, my integrity Clarice how 

can T? 

104 



Pollon. They won't leave yer much honor or integrity I'm 
thinkin' if yer don't pay. The big milHonaires get theirs by 
payin' an' I guess you will hev ter do the same. 

Hartley. But I am not that kind. 

Starky. Please think of my poor wife, Mr. Hartley, please 
do. 

Pollon. Bangs said we'd hev ter go just fer the example. 
1 don't like ter be an example fer people who ain't any better 
than I am. 

Zaidee. I think, Mr. Hartley, you will have to forgo your 
principles in this case. Stuy is talking with Mr. Bangs, and 
perhaps he will be able to do something. But why can't you 
get some friend to go bail for these unhappy men? 

Hartley. You are right, Zaid, dear, you are one in a 
thousand. I will. (To officer.) Bring these gentlemen with 
me and I will call up someone who will see that their bail 
is secured. (Exeunt Hartley and Officer with men.) 

Zaidee. (Going to Clarice^ who is weeping quietly in the 
corner.) I want to tell you something, Clarice, dear, will 
you listen? 

Clarice. Of course, Zaid, but my heart is nearly broken. 
I have quarrelled with Clarkson, and my father is going to 
be arrested, and I don't know what to do. (Throwing her 
arms around Zaidee^s neck.) 

Zaidee. Let us hope it will be all right. That old Bangs 

can be brought around and why, if Vesey loves you, he 

will come around too now you see if he doesn't. (Pause, 

while Clarice sobs.) But what I wanted to say to you, 
little one, is that you must come around too 

Clarice. Come around, what do you mean? 

Zaidee. (Turning away a little.) There are others who 

have some feelings just now and you must remember 

them as well as your own. 

Clarice. I do, I don't understand You mean my 

father, I do think of him all the time. It is that that's 
breaking my heart. 

Zaidee. Then you would do anything you could for your 
father? 

Clarice. Why Zaidee, how you talk, there is nothing on 
earth I would not do you know that. 

105 



Zaidee. And if his happiness were greatly at stake are 

you quite sure? 

Clarice. Zaidee ! 

Zaidee. But suppose he should want to get 

married? 

Clarice. But he doesn't. (Confidently.) 

Zaidee. Are you quite sure? 

Clarice. (Bcojildered.) Sure? what do you mean? Whom 
would he marry? 

Zaidee. Someone. Can't you think of someone he knows 
whc would make him a good wife? 

Clarice. (Thinking.) No. T can't. And I don't believe 
he has any such idea. 

Zaidee. Oh! but he has. 

Clarice. And you know who it is? Oh! this is too much, 
to have all this piled on my other trouble. I can't bear it. 
I can't. 

Zaidee. (Making a face.) I am sorry you think it so 
dreadful. You never thought your father might be very 
lonely after you are married? 

Clarice. Why no, of course not. he would not be left 
alone. He would still have me. 

Zaidee. But still he might be lonely. You would not be 
just the same to him. you know. Besides this person is 
someone you used to like. 

Clarice. Well. I don't now. 

Zaidee. Clarice, how selfish ! 

Clarice. (Stopping short.) Am I selfish? 

Zaidee. You are. If your father is in trouble you ought 
to be willing he should have all the comfort possible. 

Clarice. True, Zaidee, I am selfish. I am I see it. 

But it is hard. Who is this old creature anyway? Tell me 
quick and get over with. 

Zaidee. (Who looks a little disturbed.) Well she isn't 
so very old, she has been trying to get married for years, 
but she means well. 

Clarice. A regular old maid. I know. That is just the 
way things always go. Oh! Zaidee, Zaidee, what shall I do? 

Zaidee. Humor your father, child. He will like it, and 
perhaps he may be more inclined to let you marry Clarkson 

106 



after all. 1 am sure it would be a good argument. You 
could tell him if he gave his permission you would give yours. 
Children ought to have something to say in these days about 
their parents marrying. 

Clarice. (Thinking.) Perhaps you are right. And would 

you speak to him, say that I might consent if he would 

only 

Zaidee. I will do the best i can. 

Clarice. And is she such an awful old cat really? 

Zaidee. Not so very awful. I have known her well, 

and well, I really believe she is susceptible to kind 

treatment. Stuy says so. and he thinks a lot more of her 
than I do. 

Clarice. Oh ! tell me don't tell me, I don't want to 

know her name not just yet. It is hard enough to have 

the blow, without the full force all at once. But (Thinking) 
you see, Zaid, I quarrelled with Clarkson yesterday, and 

I I haven't heard anything from him since. (Buries her 

head in Zaidee's bosom.) 

Zaidee. (In mock sympathy.) What, not since yesterday, 
isn't that terrible? But you may hear later. Let us have 
one thing at a time. After we get your father safely married 
oflF we will try our hand with you and Clarkson. 

Clarice. Oh! Zaidee. you are so good. What would I 
ever do without you? 

Zaidee. Well, you may not have to do without me. You 
never can tell. Some friends stick closer than a brother. 
and I am one. (Enter Vesey. ) Oh ! you too. I am so glad 
to see you. I suppose you came on the same errand, to see 
this dreadful matter through. 

Vesey. (Looking anxiously at Cl.\rice. ) Yes, I heard 
that Starky and Pollon had been remanded to jail, and that 
other things had happened, and I was anxious, yes, very, 
for I knew too well what Bangs' wrath might mean. I do 
wish I were not so powerless. Good morning, Clarice. (She 
appears shy.) 

Zaidee. Oh ! dear. 1 think I will go out and meet your 

father and tell him the good news I think, perhaps. 

it may encourage him. (Exit.) 

Vesey. Clarice (She makes no reply for a moment.) 

107 



Clarice I hope I have not offended you. (Pause.) I 

am so sorry for all this, and I am so sorry for my help- 
lessness. What did Miss Hitt mean when she went out? 

Clarice. Oh ! Clarkson, just another trouble. 

Vesey. (Concerned. ) More trouble for you? I am so 
sorry. 

Clarice. No, for papa. (Trying to keep back her tears.) 

Vesey. For your father, what can it be? I thought he 
had enough between the custom house and me. 

Clarice. Well, he hadn't. He has got into more. 

Vesey. More, can it be possible? 

Clarice. Yes, he's going to be married. 

Vesey. Married, why that isn't trouble it may mean 

something different to him. 

Clarice. Yes, I know. It is trouble to you, and it is 

trouble, to me. 

Vesey. His getting married wouldn't trouble me. 

Clarice. iNo, I suppose not, and just now it isn't troubling 
me, although Zaidee says she is an old cat. It's my getting 

married that causes me trouble. I don't see see 

just (Vesey comes closer) why I must have it all at 

once and you so disinterested 

Vesey. (Astonished.) I I am not disinterested. 

Clarice. Oh ! no, I suppose not that is, not exactly. 

Having got me into all this worry, you are sorry for me 

perhaps 

Vesey. Oh ! Clarice, my darling 

Clarice. (Brightening up.) Why didn't you say that 
before? 

Vesey. I did not think of it. 

Clarice. Darling, of course. You men never know what 

'to say unless we tell you. I I sometimes wonder how 

you ever got the sense to propose. 

Vesey. (Eagerly.) So do I, but you were a little more 
encouraging then 

Clarice. Oh ! you mean I led you on. Well but, 

Clarkson, dear, I don't care if I did. A nice man always 

has to be led on, it is one of the failings nice men have 

and Clarkson, dear, we like you all the better for not having 
too much cheek. But (Smiling) didn't you forget some- 
thing. (Looking around.) 

108 



Vesey. (Anxiously.) No, did I? 

Clarice. Oh! well, if you don't miss anything it doesn't 
matter, I only fancied you had. 

Vesey. (Seeing.) Oh ! you darling ! (Seising her and 
kissing her enthusiastically.) Then it will be all right? 

Clarice. (Tenderly.) Perhaps, but in getting you I lose 
papa and, dear, 1 can't live without you. 

Vesey. And he has consented? What joy! 

Clarice. Not yet, but that dear Zaidee has promised 

you see papa has put his case in her hands if I do not 

object to his marrying whom he likes, he will not object to 
me doing the same thing. 

Vesey. And Hitt 

Clarice. Is the best fellow in the world, and will not stand 
in our way in the least. 

Vesey. Oh ! I see now I understand what he said 

yesterday. (Enter Hartley and Zaidee.) 

Hartley, My sweet child, and you are good to your old 
father. (He kisses her fondly.) I am so pleased with my 
little girl. And Zaidee says I must be good to you, and I 
will be. (Turning to Vesey.) Here, take her, she is much 
too good for you, but if you are good to her it will be all 
right. (Clarice throws her arms around her father's neck 
and sobs.) There, there, my child don't 

Clarice. Oh! papa papa and is she so awful? 

Hartley. (Astonished.) Awful who awful? (Look- 
ing around.) 

Clarice. That that woman? 

Hartley. (Bewildered.) What woman ? 

Clarice. That that woman you are going to 

Hartley. (Seeing her trouble and looking to Zaidee.) 
You mean marry? 

Clarice. Yes, is she so very dreadful? Zaidee said she 
was an old cat. 

Hartley. (Laughing.) Well, you should know, she is 
your best friend. Here is the designing female. (Turning 
to Zaidee.) 

Clarice. (Dumbfounded.) Zaidee Hitt you 

you. (Gasping) you, oh ! Zaidee I am so glad so glad, 

why did it never dawn on me? 

109 



Zaidee. Ave you glad, dear child, it makes me so happy. 
(Enter Renshaw.) 

Renshaw. Have you seen Bangs? 

Hartley. Not yet. (Suddenly brought to himself.) 

Renshaw. Then you had better do it at once. It may be 
too late soon. He is frightfully angry, and he will give you 
a great deal of trouble. I have seen everybody I can think 
of who has influence, and they all say it depends on Bangs. 
They leave it all to him. In fact everything seems to be 
left to him. and we have got to work for all we are worth. 

Hartley. (Getting exvited.) Is it so bad as that? He 
can't really mean to have that warrant served. 

Renshaw. Served, hasn't he surrendered Starky and 
Pollon, and if he will do that he means business. I under- 
stand he is now on his high horse, and talks about the 
purity of politics and all that rot, and when he does that 
something has got to break. Just now it looks as though 
you might be the one to break, and you have got to come 
down pretty handsomely too, if I am not mistaken. 

Hartley. Bribe, you mean, to save myself from prison. 

Renshaw. Call it what j^ou like. 1 can't for the life of 
me see the difference between a campaign fund paid before 
an election, or money paid after, they are all for the same 
end, in order to get something that someone else ought to 
have. But what ever you do, don't say bribe to Bangs. You 
don't use the vulgarest forms of speech when you are ad- 
dressing society people, but you know they are just as cor- 
rupt as politicians. Be just, and see things straight. Don't 
get moral astigmatism and see everything crooked, or you 
will fall over the bank into the water. If you were drowning 
you wouldn't wait to buy a life preserver, you'd take the 
first one handy and run the risk of being sent to prison 
after, for stealing. 

Hartley. (Thoroughly frightened, as the others are.) But 
what shall I do. 

Renshaw. Give me free hand, and I will see what I can 
do. . 

Zaidee. Oh! please do, let him get us out of this strait. 

Clarice. Papa, do it this time, and let us behave ourselves 
afterwards. 

110 



Reus haw. They are right. For my part I want to say 
right here I am sick of this business. I am tired of the way 
things are done in what we call trade. I am going to get 
out. So when you are out of this you can count me out. 
I'll retire. 

Hartley. Do you think you can bring him around? 

Renshaw. Yes, with your check book. 

Hartley. (Handing it to him.) Take it. 

Renshaw. You sign the check, he nvouldn't take my 
signature. He will want it to hold you. (Hartley signs a 
check and gives it to Renshaw.) 

Renshaw. Now mind I don't say he will take it. He has 
got to be handled just right. But whatever you do keep 

quiet and don't be remembering your Sunday school 

maxims. They are not used in the custom house for doing 
business, only for blinding and bull-dozing the public. (Exit.) 

Hartley. What are we coming to? What are we coming 
to? 

Clarice. Oh ! papa, why did you ever have that horrid Mr. 
Renshaw to do your business. I am sure he is altogether to 
hlame. 

Zaidee. Yes, I think so too. He was not the right man. 
I am glad he is going to leave your business. You would 
never be safe with him. 

Hartley. I only hope I shall be safe without him. What 
would I do if he shouldn't persuade Bangs. 1 was very 
severe, but what can a decent man do but try to down those 
wretches. T did my best, but somehow it all went the wrong 

way my poor dears. (Going up to Zaidee and Clarice, 

who are trying to comfort each other. Enter Hitt.) 

Hartley. Well, how is it going? 

Hitt. I can't say. I came away for Renshaw knows Bangs 
a great deal better than I do, but as I left things were very 
doubtful very, I am afraid. 

Zaidee. Oh ! Stuy you don't mean ? 

Clarice. Oh! papa, what shall we do? (Hartley is very 
much agitated.) 

Hitt. You see, Bangs has got to the point where he 
thinks it is worth while to teach the business man a lesson. 
He as much as told me so. You see, if those doing business 

111 



with the custom house are properly threatened they will be 
all the more generous in their tips to deserving assistants. 
Bangs didn't put it just that way, he put it in a much more 
delicate but positive manner, and that was the deduction I 
drew from it. He is a past master in the art of saying 
things which mean a great deal, but which, if retold in court, 
would sound extremely well in the papers. In fact it has 
always been his profession, and one must admit, for a 
politician, he is a genius. Machiavelli himself is but a school 
boy in comparison with him, in spite of his rough and vulgar 
demeanor. In fact the politics in those days were only the 
first struggles for deserving and unscrupulous politicians. 

Hartley. And you think I am to be a victim of the process 
of perfecting the political system? 

Hitt. I am afraid of it (But observing their consterna- 
tion.) It may come out all right. Cheer up, don't let us 
worry until we see Renshaw. He is very clever, and is much 
too well informed for Bangs' comfort, and Bangs knows very 
well that if all this stuff ever does get into court Renshaw 
could serve him a very bad turn. But here comes Renshaw. 
(Renshaw enters.) 

Hartley. Well, how is it? 

Clarice and Zaidee. Oh ! Mr. Renshaw, you have no bad 
news? 

Renshaw. That depends how you take it. 

Hartley^ How we take it! Is it so bad? 

Renshaw. Executive clemency will be used 

Hitt. Is that all? Must the warrant be served? 

Renshaw. No, that will be withheld, but the two officers 
must go to prison to save the face of the authorities. 
^Hartley. And I 

Renshaw. Your misconduct will be overlooked in con- 
sideration of good behaviour in the future 

Hitt. Is that all? 

Renshaw. No, not quite. A little matter of five hundred 
thousand dollars 

All., Five hundred thousand dollars! 

Hartley. (Bitterly.) A bribe. 

Renshaw. Oh! bless you, no. In consideration of a sub- 
scription to the A. P. P. A. executive clemency will be 

used 

112 



Hartley. You subscribed? 

Renshaw. I did. I made out your check. 

Hartley. To whom? 

Renshaw. To the treasurer of the A. P. P. A. 

Zaidee. What is the A. P. P. A.? 

Renshaw. The American Patriots* Protective Association, 

Hartley. And who is the treasurer? 

Renshaw. Bangs, 

Curtain, 



113 



N 2 1912 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



JAN 3 1912 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 928 570 4 •) 



